


The Evitable Phil

by amireal



Series: Phil(is) [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Homophobia, I'm sorry? Mostly?, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Romance, it's possible you'll start to notice my person kinks after a while
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:12:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amireal/pseuds/amireal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love, Marriage, Sex in your actual body. Phil Coulson does everything he used to, only backwards and in high heels, then it gets tricky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Snow Day and Early Valentines day! This one is 95% done but it will probably have a slower posting schedule than the one before. It's kinda busy here, despite the snow. 
> 
> Timeline: Starts about 5 seconds after I, Phil ends. 
> 
> Plot based trigger warnings in the end notes.

Despite the joy that suffused them both, that first night was nothing but hidden land mines. Everything took a few seconds longer, sitting on the couch, maneuvering in the kitchen, sliding past each other in and out of the bathroom. Reaching out and reaching back. 

“Hey,” Clint told him, “hey, just like before, slow is fine, okay?”

Phil breathed deeply and nodded. Each time. He wanted it to work, it was just that being in his original body was like ending a fairy tale. As a woman, he could ignore a lifetime of struggle and habit. Not just because they presented an image that the world would simply gloss over, well, some would get a bit huffy about the ‘woman’ being older, but that wasn’t really an argument that bothered him, but because his time as a woman sometimes seemed like an out of body experience, he wasn’t himself, so he could leave behind that parts of himself that tightened his chest with anxiety and so on.

He was Phil Coulson again, ex Ranger, career agency man, 46 years old now and a long way off from the birthday where he’d decided he was too old and too busy to start over again. If asked, Phil would not deny an almost miraculous capacity for fooling himself when the need arose.

Part of the problem was that Clint was like a walking lightening strike, he would move or talk or touch and Phil’s entire, now male, body would light up in a way he’d never felt before. It was deliriously distracting and completely unnerving.

The idea of sleep nearly completely unsettled him again when Clint handed him a set of clothes that he hadn’t seen in over a year.

“I picked stuff up after we were sure you were stable,” Clint said, “thought we’d forget about it on the way home.”

Phil smiled, genuinely touched and then he carefully reached out and squeezed Clint’s hand in thanks. Clint’s face went soft and he squeezed back. The bed, when he arrive next to it, in soft flannel pants and a his old Rangers t-shirt, felt like a battle field. Clint had also covered up more than usual, a gesture which both warmed him and made Phil feel guilty.

Clint crawled in after him, scooted close but not touching and lay on his side, head resting on his fist, propped up on his elbow. “I’m going to touch you, okay?”

“Okay,” Phil huffed in amusement, Clint had gone back to the beginning. Why not? It worked once before.

All Clint did was gently place his free hand on Phil’s chest, over his heart. Phil grasped it and brought it to his lips, closing his eyes to savor the moment of lips against skin, the smell of Clint under the unscented soap, the roughness and softness of it under his fingers. When he was done, he let their tangled hands drop back down.

Even that was magnified, that simple gesture made his heart speed and his skin tingle and his brain short circuit with meaning. He imagined this was what being a teenager was supposed to feel like.

Clint returned the gesture. “I love you, nothing changes.”

“Everything changes,” Phil said, “entropy demands it.”

“Nerd.”

“Yes.”

“ _We_ don’t change,” Clint said, “not that much, not really.”

A tiny leap of faith later and Phil had gently tugged Clint closer, until his head was pillowed on Phil’s shoulder, their hands still tangled. Despite the low level of anxiety, something inside Phil eased. They fit together, of course they fit together, they’d proven that over and over again in the little things, but it seemed like each time Phil would forget or doubt his memories. He just hoped Clint would be happy reminding him regularly for a little while.

If he’d thought the evening had been awkward, the morning was a study in uncomfortable, or rather, the incredibly comfortable. Asleep, they’d fallen into old patterns, legs tangled together, lower bodies pressed lightly against each other and soft kisses on the closest bare patch of skin upon first waking up. Since they’d started so covered up, that meant his neck and jaw.

Then Clint’s leg bent a bit more and it pressed against his erection, his first in over a year, and his entire body shuddered in muted pleasure. What had once been a peak, was now a valley, and almost without thought his hips rolled into a matching heat on Clint’s body.

“Mmm,” Clint said with a rusty voice, “morning.”

“Morning,” Phil said, languid pleasure keeping him calm.

“If I slip you a couple of breath mints, think we could make out for a while?” Clint traced spirals over Phil’s heart and kissed his neck.

“I can’t brush my teeth?” He offered up an open palm for the mints.

“I’m worried if I let you up you’ll have too much time to freak out,” Clint said reaching behind him for a package that had been left out on the side table. “My plan of attack mostly involves making you forget to be weird via hormones.”

“Well,” Phil popped three tiny white and blue mints into his mouth and crunched them, “if the Popsicle Offensive could work, I guess anything could.”

Clint crunched on his own mints and gave him a knowing smile. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to make plans?”

“You’re not,” Phil reached up to touch Clint’s lips, letting his fingers trace around them and then up to the nearest cheek bone, “there was a memo and everything.”

“You know,” Clint murmured, lowering his face to Phil’s, letting their noses touch, “I completely believe there was a memo.” He cupped Phil’s face, and kissed him gently. “Mm. Minty.”

“There was,” Phil said before kissing him back lightly, “I had my copy laminated,” he hummed into Clint’s return kiss. “Fury made his into a dart board.”

“Did not,” Clint said into Phil’s lips, swallowing any response he might have had. The kisses remained careful for a few quiet minutes until Clint shifted, trying to get closer and Phil’s leg automatically folded across the back of Clint’s to hold him there. They both groaned and the kiss went wet and dirty in no time.

It felt amazing and for a time, Phil could go on instinct, but eventually his hands wandered and Clint’s ass was under his palms, fantastic as ever, but his reach was different. His hands a bit bigger, the tips of his fingers brushed against the telltale dip in the center and his pinky rested just at the bottom of the well muscled roundness. It was enough to engage his brain and it was but a seconds inventory to catalog the differences. Differences between arousal from a female body to a male one and differences in arousal between his last encounter as a man and his current one.

Some things were similar, his skin buzzed, his head was foggy, his nipples also seemed interested in the action and his awareness of Clint was incredibly detailed. Inside his sweats his cock felt fat and heavy and overly sensitive, Clint’s breathing seemed to be enough to send trembling bits of pleasure arcing through it.

“Clint,” he wrenched their lips apart, “I… I need to stop.”

At once, Clint was across the bed, looking at him with worry. “What happened?”

“I’m not used to holding back,” Phil said shakily, sitting up, “as a woman, it didn’t matter and before this it—” he looked away feeling his face heat, “it was never a problem.”

“I wish,” Clint said in a quiet tone, “I could blame someone,” he crawled back to Phil and sat next to him, taking his hand, “for why you feel this way, maybe a first girlfriend or a parent or something, for making you feel like you were never good enough to reach for better. For teaching you that your own pleasure isn’t important.”

Phil’s eyes prickled and he let Clint wrap an arm around his shoulder.

“I just want you to feel good,” Clint said into his hairline, “to be happy.”

“I am,” Phil said, “when I can let myself be, I am,” his voice was rough. “You,” he said carefully, “are my h-husband.” He felt Clint smile against his skin.

“And you’re mine,” Clint kissed him, “and I’d really like if you’d let me show you how awesome sex can be again. When you’re ready.”

“I’m too ready,” Phil sighed, leaning further into Clint, “but apparently, that’s okay.”

“Your body is not your mind,” Clint moved so that he was kneeling in front of Phil’s crossed legs and held both of his hands, “hence why we allow young teenagers to masturbate but discourage sex.”

Phil snickered. “You said hence.”

“Yeah well,” Clint stuck out his tongue, “I’m married to a man with a huge… vocabulary.”

Phil stared at him in shock until Clint winked at him and he had to laugh at the absolutely appalling entendre. “That was terrible.”

“And proud of it,” Clint nodded and kissed him lightly. “So breakfast?”

“No,” Phil tugged Clint closer, stretching his legs out between Clint’s knees as he worked his way up to Phil’s lap, “I think I’d like to get back to what we were doing, since I was going to take a shower anyway.”

“Oh,” Clint said, settling easily onto Phil’s lap, smiling shyly as their erections bumped, “as long as it’s convenient then.”

“In general,” Phil said, already zeroing in on Clint’s lips, “I find you the most inconvenient person I’ve ever met.”

“You say the sweetest things,” Clint kissed him slowly.

This time it ramped up more quickly, gravity doing most of the work for them. Phil worked his hands under Clint’s shirt, feeling the muscle and skin under his fingertips greedily. Clint worked on refinding every sensitive spot he could reach until they were rocking into each other with careful thrusts, their sleep wear muting the sensations, but only barely.

Phil tucked his hands under Clint’s waist band, this time enjoying the feel of taught muscle contracting and releasing with each movement. “This feels too good for us to still be wearing clothing,” Phil gasped as Clint sucked especially hard under his ear. From the start, Phil knew it would be just shy of a controlled collision and holding Clint close to him, rocking upwards into a matching hardness was a sublime form of torture that quickly reached a pinnacle he couldn’t back away from.

Eventually all he could do was pant into Clint’s shoulder and swallow his keening noises as he came in three long pulses of wetness and endless, pleasure filled shudders. 

“That’s it,” Clint whispered, stroking his hair, “that’s it, just feel good.”

It was more than simple physical release, it was a sunrise over a vast and dark ocean, a single candle in a dark corner, an illumination into a place he hadn’t thought existed in himself.

It was shattering.

He wasn’t aware of the tears on his face until Clint wiped them away gently. 

“Okay?” Clint asked.

Phil blinked and look up at him, still perched on his lap, “Maybe.” He reached one shaking hand down into Clint’s lap and molded it to what had to be the aching erection pressed against cotton. “You close?”

“Y-yes,” Clint hissed, “if you want to, then oh yes, keep doing that.”

How could he not want to after that, how could he not want Clint to feel even 1/10th of what Phil just felt. So he pressed his shaking hands gently and then with more firmness to the bulge in Clint’s lap and rubbed tentatively.

It took him a few of Clint’s happy sighs for him to remember that he’d done this before, he knew what Clint liked. He swiped his thumb back and forth just under the head earning him a groan that Phil swallowed up into a deep kiss. It was startlingly easy to move his hand into a counter rhythm to the one Clint was rocking with, letting his whole palm push in and up and then down and back. Over and over until Clint seemed to out of his mind with pleasure. When Phil briefly let go and shushed Clint’s whine because he was reaching inside Clint’s pants and grasping at the hot, wet cock inside, smooth and velvety and feeling exactly the same as last time.

It leapt in his hand and Clint’s hips canted up hard while his hands clamped down on Phil’s arm tight enough to leave bruises. “Phil,” he chanted, “Phil, Phil, Phil,” and came before Phil could even find a good angle.

As Clint caught his breath he pulled Phil into a hug. “I never told you,” he said into his ear, “but watching you come was the hottest thing I ever saw, I used to hold on by the skin of my teeth sometimes.”

Phil’s breath caught and his body gave a valiant twitch but he was done for the moment. Clint laughed softly, having caught the reactions. “Shower?”

“Yeah, shower.”

It was strange to step under the spray with Clint, to touch him and cherish him and kiss and kiss with no other intent. Orgasms were off the table for a good few hours and it wasn’t that they had been insatiable before, but that Clint had seemed over joyed in making Phil breathless and strung out on pleasure. Now it was a completely different tone, it was quiet and sated and gentle, it wasn’t a means to any end but reassurance and squeaky clean skin.

After they got dressed and ate they packed up the majority of Phil’s female things and took the bags to the temperature controlled storage facility they’d moved most of his apartment to months and months ago and swapped them out for several suits and a bagful of comfortable clothing. 

“We can get the rest later,” Phil said.

“Maybe we should start looking for a place soon,” Clint eyed the remains of Phil’s wardrobe, which was bountiful, “one with extra closets.”

While in general, he was pretty proud of his collection of suits, there was a moment, where fear overwhelmed him and the stereotype police he remembered from the army and even earlier, from school, stomped through his brain. It was just a flash, moment of doubt but Phil could tell it was just a warning shot across the bow, the following months would be full of those moments and more.

Phil still felt bad about it, which was a bad precedent to set, but he decided there wasn’t much more he could do than would deal with them as they came. Instead, he dug up the list of things they’d put off because his change back would make it complicated. Bank accounts were first, while a woman Phil could and did most of his banking online and if necessary could do in person business at separate branch from his usual. Merging bank accounts required in person signatures which was quite frankly, the most annoying and least helpful security measure Phil had ever seen.

Clint had _opinions_ about checking accounts and how some banks liked to dick their poorer clients around. 

“Citibank okay?” Phil asked, SHIELD International liked to work with Citigroup, but they could shift if needed.

Clint made a face but said, “Better than CHASE.”

A three hour meeting at the bank later, during which there had been an awkward “For business?” “For personal” conversation before the guy had understood, both Phil and Clint looked a little dazed at their new money market account numbers.

“So,” Phil said, “we can get that house any time we want?”

“We can get two houses,” Clint blinked in a daze, “I forgot the combat pay adds up.”

“Believe it or not, we still couldn’t get two houses in New York, but we can get one really nice house.” Phil felt his palms get sweaty at the idea, he wanted a house, he actually sort of longed to see their stuff intermingled completely. Still, the actual step felt harder than it should. After the meeting at the bank, which had actually left both of them nervous and tense, they decided to work on the little things instead. 

The evening after the bank, they came home and Clint instantly crowded him against the door and whispered into Phil’s ear. “Can I blow you?” he rasped, “I’ve sort of been thinking about it forever?”

Phil shuddered and was instantly hard, the feeling was still new and exciting and he savored it more now than he ever had before. He nodded mutely, giving Clint permission. Clint didn’t waste any time sinking to his knees and nosing at the tented fabric over Phil’s zipper. 

Clint’s hot breath was tantalizing and Phil had to lock his knees almost immediately, his fingers reached out, without thought, and stroked the back of Clint’s head. His brain went offline when Clint’s hand wrapped around him, he throbbed hotly and moaned. The first taste of slick tongue and hot mouth nearly undid him and Clint just moaned and sucked carefully.

“Clint,” Phil croaked, already completely undone, “I’m not, I won’t,” he sucked in a breath and Clint inched down and then back up.

“I know,” Clint said, pulling off him for brief seconds, “I’m ready,” he leaned back in and sucked again, a little harder, looking up at Phil with blown pupils and puffy lips.

The quick exposure to cold air did nothing to slow him down, it only made Clint’s hot mouth better and it was an effort not to lose himself completely and thrust, as it was his hips couldn’t remain still, shifting back and forth helplessly. One of Clint’s hands was wrapped around the base, holding it steady, occasionally gifting his cock with a slow, twisting stroke. His other hand was on Phil’s hip, his pants and underwear had slid down enough that three of Clint’s fingers were on skin and they were burning hot, stroking mindlessly, but somehow in time with his sucking.

Phil found himself on the edge so quickly he’d be embarrassed if had any blood left above the waist, as it was, all he could do was cup Clint’s jaw and gasp in awe as he felt himself through Clint’s cheek. Phil lost himself in the sensation of Clint’s mouth until it was no longer there. He opened his eyes, not even remembering closing them and made a noise high in his chest. “Wha?”

“Just letting you know,” Clint’s throat was raw and that sent a tingle down Phil’s spine, “I plan on swallowing.”

“Hnn,” Phil said dumbly, but was distracted quickly by Clint’s lips wrapping around him again and he had planned on being a gentleman about it, but then Clint’s tongue undulated and with a cry, he shattered. Three long pulses, which Clint swallowed around, making happy noises, wrung shivering sparks of pleasure out of him until he was nothing but a shuddering wreck of a man half out of his suit.

Clint, after tucking him in tenderly and hitching his pants back up over his waist, lowered him to the floor gently. Clint kissed his cheek, jaw, ear, everything but his lips. It took Phil a second to realize he was trying to be polite. Phil grasped Clint’s chin and tugged him up until their lips could meet, Clint whimpered into the kiss and Phil realized that Clint was still hard, unconsciously thrusting against Phil’s leg.

He grabbed Clint carefully and rolled, hauling him on top of Phil, positioning his thigh between Clint’s legs so he could ride it easily. “Phil,” Clint groaned, “I need,” his words were swallowed into another kiss.

“Take it,” Phil encouraged, “I’ll even do the laundry this time.” He reeled Clint in again, sucking on his tongue a bit before returning the favor. Clint’s body went liquid as he rolled his hips frantically.

“Phil,” Clint whimpered into his neck, “I’m so close.”

That it took little more than Phil’s orgasm to get him that frantic was nothing short of flattering and despite Clint’s heated confession from that first morning, the fact that he could turn Clint on that easily was always both a shock and delicious surprise. Phil searched about for something to help Clint along and the thought of stopping him long enough to get his hand down Clint’s unbuttoned pants broke his heart. Clint continued to make desperate noises into Phil’s mouth and all he could think was helping him find release, so Phil slid his hands down from here they were gripping Clint’s face and chest under the stiff fabric of his jeans, that had been unbuttoned Phil had no idea when, to cup his ass, his marvelous, flexing ass and stroked heavily at the seam that ran down the middle.

Clint came with a sob and stuttering hips, only stopping their kiss to gasp deep breaths. Eventually, they relaxed against each other, Clint going pliant with a happy sigh. “Totally worth all those popsicle splinters,” he slurred, petting at whatever part of Phil he could reach. 

Phil held him close and let their noses brush. “You’re lucky I never found one of those between the couch cushions,” he brushed his lips over Clint’s chin and crow’s feet. “Though I do think I miss the multiple orgasms.”

“Me too,” Clint smiled, rolling off of Phil. “However, I think I am officially too old for floor sex.” He shifted to his side, gave Phil one long look and amended, “well, more than once a week.”

They laughed and then made exaggerated old man groans getting to their feet.

In order to avoid the backlog that happened last time, Phil and his team were slated to be sent out as quickly as possible. That meant that for the next two weeks Phil, in between stolen moments of personal time with Clint as they began sorting out their lives, he found himself busy re-qualifying for field work, again. Thankfully it was pretty apparent that despite the urging from Fury for speed, there was less to relearn this time around, so even faster wasn’t an issue. Even if he did have to spend another alarming few hours tumbling back and forth across the small gym, this time with Clint and Natasha holding up score cards. He still had to put in time showing he could hit all of the qualifying bench marks again. Phil didn’t feel rushed because most of those he hit right out of the starting gate. Still, it was a solid six weeks before they found themselves with any sort of break that could be construed as true downtime.

“Dinner?” Clint asked as they shuffled out of SHIELD after what felt like the never ending debriefing and onto the damp Manhattan streets.

“New place on 37th?” Phil asked, ticking off the restaurants they’d spent too much time in before, “I think it’s Italian fusion.”

“Sometimes,” Clint put his sunglasses on sighing, “I think they don’t know what that word actually means.” He nodded and turned right in the direction of 37th street.

It was a handful of blocks later when Phil realized something felt off, at first, his instincts, only hours off the job, flared to high alert and next to him Clint tensed in reaction.

“Sir?”

“I don’t know,” Phil said, scanning rooftops in the distance. Midtown had very few low laying buildings. It would all be windows or far away and despite what movies would have you believe, there were very few alley ways in a place where real estate was at such a premium. “Something feels off.”

Clint nudged them over to the corner subway entrance, 34th street was a huge underground warren that they both knew well enough to feel safe in and it would limit the possibility of a sniper.

They wove their way down past E train and walked down the endless corridor to the main LIRR area and meandered to a quiet corner behind one of the automated ticket booths near tracks 12 and 13.

Phil felt off balance even as he closed his eyes and mentally reviewed the few blocks they’d walked. “What was it?” he muttered to himself.

“A familiar face?” Clint asked, “I didn’t catch a tail or a sniper.” Left unsaid was the likelihood that if Clint didn’t catch it, then Phil probably wouldn’t of either. “When did it start?”

“After we crossed 32nd, a creeping feeling of unease hit me hard.” Phil crossed his arms. “It was almost like anxiety.”

Clint stilled, “Oh,” he briefly squeezed Phil’s arm, feeling the muscle tense under his fingers and then nodded and released him. “I know what happened.”

Phil was staring down at where Clint had touched him, “What?”

“I was a little worried this might happen when we had that really busy two weeks before being sent right out into the field.” Clint sighed and then took a place leaning against the wall inches from Phil’s tense arms. “Usually, by around 32nd street you’ve relaxed and gone off duty enough to take my hand.”

“Oh.” Phil slumped, “sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Clint bumped his elbow, “it’s hard for you, I know that.”

Phil dropped his head and consciously relaxed his shoulders before reaching up to undo his tie and popping the top two buttons. He’d gotten used to women’s necklines, recently his buttoned up approach to clothing had occasionally felt stifling. He rolled the tie up and stuck it in his jacket pocket. “It is,” he finally looked up and met Clint’s eyes, “hard for me. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to keep trying.”

“I know,” Clint smiled and pushed off from the wall he was leaning on, “you wouldn’t be you if you stopped trying when it got hard.”

Phil smiled wryly. “I thank you for not going for the obvious joke.”

“Only because I love you.”

They skipped the dinner out, both aware that sort of action would be mined with hidden triggers. Phil tapped in a food order on his phone to send as soon as the signal resumed as they tromped up the stairs of their subway stop. Over pizza, not Indian, Clint had made a face and requested less spice, Clint suggested approaching the issue in a more structured way.

Phil stared at him. “You’ve been reading the pamphlets in psych again.”

Clint blushed and ducked his head. “I accidentally quoted something again didn’t I?”

Phil offered him a grimace and a small distance between his extended thumb and forefinger.

“Sorry,” Clint shrugged, “but sometimes they do have good ideas. Sometimes.”

Phil smiled carefully, leaning back into the couch, “No, don’t apologize, it’s fine, I just,” he shrugged, a tight feeling struggling to take hold in his chest, “you hate psych, with a passion, but you go there, for me.” For a brief moment, he felt shame for his inability to take even the type of small step Clint had taken.

“Phil,” Clint pulled him close and touched foreheads, “breath, you’ve done nothing wrong, I’m not mad at you or whatever you’re thinking inside that overachieving brain of yours. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Together, they agreed to try something small, made easy by darkness and the inherent distraction of a loud and colorful show going on in front.

“I haven’t been to a movie in years,” Phil said shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, a material he’d just about given up on because women’s jeans tended to avoid full sized front pockets and have a strange preoccupation with highlighting their back pockets which made him feel like putting his wallet there would simply be a glowing beacon for a pick pocket. Now, wearing his own jeans still remained only slightly uncomfortable. Though the look on Clint’s face when he took in Phil’s appearance made it worth it.

“Me either,” Clint said, “always felt too normal whenever I thought about it.”

“So we’re really here for Ratatouille?”

Clint nodded, “Weekday and after 7pm so little to no chance of parents accompanied by small children, four weeks after opening which means a majority of the interest has waned, multiscreen theater that has devoted 3 screens to the newest block buster which means most of the people here are not waiting for the same movie we are and most of the people milling about will be too preoccupied talking about the movie to notice us,” each point was punctuated with a new extended finger.

Phil blinked and then gave Clint a sly look. “You mission spec’ed our date.”

Clint went delightfully pink and ducked his head. “Maybe.”

He narrowed his eyes at Clint and then gave a small smile. “I love it.”

“Awesome.”

They shared a rather large popcorn bucket, that was ironically only a small, and tucked themselves into the back row of stadium seating. A few minutes into it, with the bag tucked securely between them, the theater was new and so the seating was flexible and all of the arms pushed up and out of the way like airplane seating, Phil had a moment of non deja vu. That was, the feeling that this was what everyone else did and that he had somehow accidentally stumbled onto a classic moment from Other People’s Lives. Like the first time you personally attended what you had originally thought to be only been a television cliche.

Movie theater commercials and previews had vastly improved since his last attempt at viewing, decades ago, so he was unprepared to genuinely laugh before the movie even started. The popcorn disappeared startlingly fast and the movie proved to be surprisingly engrossing. At some point in the middle, Clint shifted, switching which legs crossed and Phil realized their hands were braided together in a familiar way.

Oh. When had that happened? He felt his face flame with heat and had to consciously stamp down on the impulse to draw his hand away. They were in a dark room with barely 15 other people and everyone was looking forward, not at them.

“Just realized it, huh?” Clint whispered into his ear with butter soaked breath.

“Yeah, sorry,” Phil squeezed his hand and tried to relax.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Clint squeezed back.

Eventually, Phil was able to quash the anxiety and start enjoying Clint’s presence and the hum under his skin he tended to induce. It ended up a quiet success and they planned a series of movie theater adventures that wove in and out of their busy lives. Eventually leading to a 15 minute make out session near the end of Madagascar 2 that left Phil’s lips feeling puffy and his hair windblown.

When they walked out Clint looked especially proud of himself, Phil had to admit he felt just a bit proud himself too. A few movies in, they’d found another compromise and they started being seated side by side at restaurants where they could hold hands between them. Feeling emboldened by their success and the especially dark corner they’d been seated in, Phil deliberately took the seat opposite Clint and reached across the table. Clint’s smile as he slid his hand to meet Phil’s was beautiful.

The ease lasted through appetizers, Phil’s spicy stuffed mushrooms that Clint had declined a taste of and Clint’s aromatic vegetable soup, when Clint’s hand went from pliant to stiff and it was yanked away roughly. Before Phil could even ask what was wrong a shadow crossed over their table and what Phil had thought was their waiter was actually a tenant from his old apartment building walking up to them.

“Phil!” Mrs. Henderson, his former next door neighbor descended on them faster than Phil imagined a 65 year old woman with a hip replacement could, “we were worried about you!”

“We?” Phil asked, standing out of habit, taking her hand and letting her kiss his cheek.

“A few people on the floor, the night doorman,” she waved a hand a well manicured hand at him, “look at you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything but a suit.” She was dressed in what he might describe as casually fancy, black pants and a soft gray sweater set that complimented her natural hair color, a slowly fading chestnut that feathered out into a silver gray in places.

“Doorman?” Phil was finding linear time hard to follow for a few seconds. 

“Ed,” she said, “he used to say that you had to be the hardest worker he’d ever seen often coming in and leaving again while he was still on shift.”

Across from him and still seated, Clint covered a laugh. “Sounds like Phil.”

Mrs. Henderson peered around him. “Hello, Edna Henderson, Phil’s neighbor, well apparently former neighbor.”

Clint stood and shook her hand. “Clint, Phil’s colleague, nice to meet you.”

Phil hated the relief that flowed through him when Clint smoothly switched to a cover story. 

“I was sent on a business trip that turned into a long term assignment,” he answered Edna’s unanswered question. “By six months in it seemed silly to keep paying rent if I had no idea when I’d be back.”

“He’s staying on my couch until he has enough time to find a place that suits him,” Clint said easily, rolling out the charm and carefully taking over the conversations so that Phil could find his footing.

The waiter appeared with two steaming plates and Edna took her leave with a quick hand squeeze and hug to both of them. “Oh,” she said startled, looking at Phil’s left hand “no wonder you’re looking for a new place, you met someone while traveling.” She gave him what had to be the scariest lascivious grin in the world.

“I…” he tried, moving clumsily out of the way of the returning waiter, this time with pepper and cheese, Clint waved the pepper away and Phil absently shook his head at him as well. “Yes, I met someone.” His eyes darted guiltily to Clint’s hand only to see he had the presence of mind to remove the ring. Phil had never felt so utterly clumsy in his entire life, if he’d been on an op someone would be dead already.

Dinner seemed stilted after, Clint didn’t put his ring back on and Phil could only choke down half of his main course Eventually, Clint kicked his leg and gave him sad eyes until he relented and chuckled. “Sorry, I guess I wasn’t prepared for a surprise.”

“It’s fine,” Clint said but Phil could see the stress lines around his eyes and mouth and the slightly tense slope of his shoulders.

“It’s not,” Phil said, “it shouldn’t be.” He turned his head, unerringly focusing on Edna’s table, he’d subconsciously tracked her apparently, “Hold on.”

He got up, straighted his shoulders and walked across the room. Edna looked up at him surprised, her dining companion only looked curious.

“Hi, sorry,” Phil addressed her friend before turning to her, “earlier, I meant to say something,” he took another deep breath, “I did meet someone and this ring,” he lifted his left hand to show her, “means I got married. To Clint.” He’s said it, no going back now, “and he’s been really understanding about, well, everything, and it’s not fair to him that he well,” he looked back at Clint who seemed to be staring at him with wide eyes, a hint of panic, and a small smile, “he covers for me all the time, basically. So I just wanted to say that— that.” Phil nodded decisively, out of breath. He could feel the tendrils of panic eeking their way into his chest even as Edna smiled at him. 

“Oh honey,” she said holding his hand, “I saw him slip off the ring.” She patted his knuckles, “But thank you for telling me.”

The walk back to Clint was a little hazy and he was pretty sure he felt better about himself but he also felt knobby kneed and dizzy. They took a cab back to the apartment and Clint kissed him soundly but gently as soon as the door closed. “You never have to do that you know,” Clint whispered, “force yourself into the open like that, I’m a sniper, I understand feeling exposed.”

Phil hugged Clint close, burying his face in the his neck, shaking with unspent adrenaline as he tried to come down. Clint just rubbed his back and hummed quietly.

In the morning, he felt raw and broken open, but also a tiny bit healed, a gentle and thin scab covered him and despite the ache, he treasured the wound. He kissed Clint over the coffee machine and tasted the cool and slightly chalky taste of his mints. “I’m worried you’re addicted to breath mints.”

“Love me,” Clint kissed him back, “love my foibles.”

Phil raised a curious eyebrow. “Jasper got you a word a day calendar, didn’t he?”

Clint mimed being shot in the heart and then proceeded to die a slow and overly dramatic death, sweeping Phil’s leg gently enough that it was his decision to follow him down to the floor. Feeling generous, Phil went with him where they wrestled without intent until Clint shimmied down his body and hooked his sleepwear with his fingers as he went.

Unlike the first blow job Clint bestowed on him, where his toes had curled and his eyes had rolled back nearly instantly into an unforgettable orgasm that had left him shaking, this one lasted a few long and delicious minutes. After, he took a few precious seconds to catch his breath before crawling over to return the favor, savoring the way Clint filled his mouth out perfectly and the dark and warm scent that tickled his nose.

Clint started making cut off sounds flatteringly quickly and Phil, conscious both of the time and wanting to make Clint feel as good as possible, gently rolled Clint’s balls before pushing one split slick finger back, tracing the pucker it found lightly.

An aborted thrust of hips or two later and Phil was practicing a that sucking-swallow thing Clint had showed him that had made his own orgasms stretch like taffy until he was shivering with stimulation.

They both enjoyed the after glow until the coffee machine’s muted beeping told them the carafe was full. Phil kissed Clint and stood so that he could pointedly grab two mugs and pour for them both before handing one to Clint. “Look at that, you can drink from a mug after all.”

Clint stuck his tongue out and downed half the mug with a happy sigh. “Oh hey,” he said, face still buried in the mug, “medical wants me for the usual checkup today and I’ve got range time after so I’ll be home late.”

Phil took his own sip and looked at him skeptically. “And you’re going voluntarily?”

“They threatened my range time,” Clint said sulkily.

He chuckled and squeezed Clint’s shoulder on his way to the bedroom to get dressed.

His happy buzz stuck around all day, even when Maria called in for an unscheduled meeting after lunch, usually those sorts of meetings meant something had gotten tangled early in the planning stages and they had to either rework or decide to postpone an op completely.

When she handed him three folders, he flipped through them slowly and was confused when they turned out to be just three personal dossiers, noticeably all snipers. He frowned in confusion, “Wouldn’t Clint be a better person to assess their skills for whatever you want them for?”

“Yes,” Maria nodded, “we’ll be asking him too but since you might have to work with them, I thought you’d want a say too.”

Phil blinked, confused, “Excuse me?” It wasn’t like he’d never worked without Clint behind a scope before, or even without him directly on the op, but something about this conversation felt different.

Maria signed, briefly pinched the bridge of her nose and leaned back into her chair. “I don’t suppose it’s just that you haven’t checked your messages?”

Automatically he tapped a few keys and then checked his phone while the computer brought up is inbox. His computer held nothing and his phone only had a text from Clint letting him know he was out of medical. Off his confused look Maria took out a fourth folder, the fact that she had it meant she thought she’d need it.

“You know that after your marriage, you were taken out of the last of official supervisory positions of power for Clint, there wasn’t a lot left to remove, mostly just automatic updates of flagged medical and training items. You’re technically his medical proxy, but that doesn’t put you directly into his information chain unless specifically needed. I just thought he’d tell you first.” Maria pushed the folder across to Phil. “You’d have access to this on the daily disabled agents update as well as the updated asset portfolios you receive before each op, Clint’s signed the paperwork for that, but you’d have to actively look for it after you saw his name on the disabled list.”

By the time she was finished Phil had worked himself into a silent panic over what had happened but before he could tip over into unbearable Maria leaned in and stopped his subconscious finger tapping. “He’s fine,” she said and Phil breathed out. He’d worried that his and Maria’s stronger friendship would fade after he’d been turned back into a man and that he’d miss the camaraderie, but they both seemed to reach out in the same way as before and it had been one of the quickest of his many fears that had been soothed.

The file was easy to read, an early project of his, one long term injury and a of fear of his own sanity he had set himself up a project redesigning a large chunk of SHIELD paperwork to have intelligent summaries up top. As a surprise bonus, it had encouraged the move to digital paperwork, because it involved intelligent forms that could grab the relevant data automatically and fill out the summaries with a few button pushes. His eyes scanned the data, diagnosis, prognosis, treatment, planned down time and reasons for taking Clint out of the field during treatment, specifically possible unknown reactions to the meds and the danger of stopping the medication mid cycle.

“Can I hold on to these?” Phil asked, gesturing to the three dossiers and Clint’s file.

“No problem,” Maria nodded and left him to it.

He read Clint’s file twice, and slowly small moments popped up that he’d dismissed before, not the least of which was his suspicion about Clint’s favorite mints. 

“What I can’t figure out,” Phil found Clint in the range, like he’d said, and he’d waited politely for the break a target change would make before talking, “is why you didn’t drop the coffee along with the black pepper, Indian, Thai and other spicy foods.”

Clint went stiff but continued to his draw, nock, release pattern. “You’d notice the coffee.”

“That’s right,” Phil nodded, coming closer, “I would.”

Clint’s mouth flattened, but he said nothing and continued to shoot until Phil was right next to him. “Can we talk about this at home?” He still wouldn’t look at Phil.

“No one’s here, I sent the range master out and locked the door, now could you please tell me why.” The quiet anger under his breast bone beat an upset tune. “Why you would try to hide this from me.”

“I’d really prefer to talk about this at home, I need to finish this.” Clint said tightly, drawing another arrow and carefully aiming.

Phil narrowed his eyes and then gasped quietly. “Your hands are shaking.” He carefully and in full view of Clint, covered his draw hand and gently pushed the bow and arrow down. “What happened?”

Clint let out an explosive breath and clutched his bow tightly in his hand before finally turning to face him, his eyes wild and unhappy. “I’m scared! Okay? I get scared too! And don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to be there for you at home, I love being there for you and you’re there for me whenever I need you in the field so I’m absolutely ecstatic that you let me be there for you at home, but I’m still scared!” Clint paced in a tight circle, hands waving, “Last night is my worst nightmare, but instead of dealing with it you decide it’s not worth it and I have to learn to live without you again and this is new to me too you know, but if it’s you I don’t mind trying new things, if it’s you, I don’t mind anything.”

“Clint…” Phil reached out and carefully took Clint’s bow from his hand and set it aside before he pulled him into a hug, tucking Clint’s blotchy face into his shoulder, “this is more than scared, you’ve got an ulcer and based on the reports, its been brewing for a while.”

“I’m sorry,” Clint said into his shoulder, arms slowly wrapping around Phil.

“No,” Phil rubbed his back, “no don’t be sorry about this, if anything, I’m sorry, I should have realized how selfish I’ve been.” He could see it now, self medicating with chalky acid reducers and diet changes for his stomach and the long range sessions for his mind. Clint had always seemed so settled after his practice days and Phil had assumed it was because he was allowed to see more of Clint now, but in reality he’d been a self absorbed idiot.

“I’m sorry,” Clint said again, “I should have—”

“Don’t,” Phil interrupted, a heavy feeling settled in his chest, “don’t ever keep something like this from me.”

“I never did anything that would compromise—”

“No,” Phil sighed, still stroking Clint’s tense back, “not that, this worry, this fear, I’m here for you too, don’t bury it all inside, we can be afraid together.” 

Clint sucked in a wet and shaky breath and then chuckled softly, “I’d like that, being afraid together sounds nice.” He lifted his head and rested their foreheads together. “We should make it a regular thing.”

They both laughed weakly and Phil closed his eyes and tried to soak in the presence of his Husband, he specifically used the word in his head, it was time to purposefully start stretching his boundaries a little more often.

“I love you,” Clint whispered.

“I love you too,” Phil said, stroking Clint’s cheek with his thumb, “but I think it’s time you stopped being the only one to get advice from psych.” The very idea of explaining his feelings to Clint still made him tense in anxiety, let alone a virtual stranger, but it had become clear that the status quo wasn’t enough and Phil wouldn’t sacrifice Clint’s well being and peace of mind just so he could be a little more comfortable.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I'd get this up now since tomorrow was looking mighty busy. Have updated trigger warnings at the end of the fic. Chapter 3 has a good chance of not appearing till Monday or so. There's been too many storm up here to put off chores and errands for a clearer day. Wee.

In general, Phil didn’t actually hate Psych. He often found them useful and smart enough to make progress with the most stubborn and creative of assets and agents. Their assessments and recommendations weren’t more or less wrong than any other departments, that was to say, 25% of the time, everyone talked out of their asses.

Karen had been right, the assistant who he’d kept a closer eye on than he would usually for someone in her department or level if they weren’t directly related to an op, anyone with an ist would sell their soul to ask him a single question. Psych had at least been civil, making their requests via paper trail and keeping them to no more than twice a month. It wasn’t even stalking, even if occasionally Phil had felt hunted.

Like all other agents, he’d submitted to the annual reviews and the usual sessions after bad ops but then he’d been turned into a woman. He’d ducked them completely for a several months, and was successful in not initiating anything too mandatory by maintaining his efficiency in the field, until eventually the head of the department had cornered him in his office. Also, it helped that his situation was unprecedented so there was simply no paperwork available for the department to fill out to make his sessions mandatory.

“If I make them sign a form to never bring it up unless absolutely necessary will you stop ducking behind corners whenever you’re about to pass one of my guys in the hall? They’re starting to get paranoid.” Dr. Hessleman looked ready to get to his knees.

Phil had relented but had only started to relax after his first session when he could see that the rules had been so obviously drilled into the department.

Still, there had been a lot he’d held back. There had always been a lot he’d held back. 

SHIELD, as an organization, understood that it was only as good as the people it employed and the people were only as good as how healthy and worry free they were. As a motto it was both a little wordy and a bit oversimplified, but in general it worked. The idea was that as SHIELD employees, you were limited in certain areas that normal people were not, often this related to doctors of varying specialties as it was difficult to give a complete medical history to someone without the proper security clearance. However, it could translate to something mundane, like moving house and needing your movers to have special security clearance to even know your address.

Thus, the two tiered system was born, on one side, you had your official SHIELD file, on the other was your personal file and never the twain shall meet unless it was a national emergency. So in reality you could arrange to see a SHIELD therapist on your personal file and the only crossover would be a notation in your SHIELD file that you’d opted for long term treatment. If the therapist wanted to add something to your SHIELD file, they would be obligated to inform you first and in some cases, you could object and then talk about a reasonable compromise. The only nonnegotiable thing was that if your SHIELD issued therapist was different than your personal one, they both were required to have access to both of your files in case of emergency.

Maria had told him the OBG/YN department had the highest rate of separate files. That still worried him.

When he slid into Dr. Hessleman’s office around three o’clock the man couldn’t have looked more shocked if he’d tried. “I need a personal appointment,” Phil said and then watched Hessleman actually look _more_ surprised. Phil took a deep breath and crossed his arms. “Someone who will be available for a long term,” he paused, trying to find a better word than assignment, “relationship.” He swallowed the wince that wanted to come out.

Hessleman’s eyebrows went up and he spent long seconds studying Phil. Phil studied him right back and took in his silver hair with tight curls and the muscle tone that had just started to leave his body because of age and lack of time to maintain it, leaving him with just a hint of extra skin around all of his joints. 

“So,” Hessleman said slowly, “I’m not being punked?”

Phil hauled up the absolutely driest look in his arsenal and Hessleman caved, sighing.

“You can’t blame me for asking,” he said, “do you have a preference?”

Phil fought against the tightening of the muscles holding his jaw clenched. “It should probably be whoever Agent Barton’s been sneaking advice from.”

Hessleman leaned back in his chair and this time gave Phil a long appraising look. “You know, just because my department was banned from the betting pool doesn’t mean we don’t keep up with the gossip.”

Phil deliberately fiddled with his wedding ring that he’d specifically worn for this conversation. Both his and Clint’s files mentioned long term relationships but the details were sealed. “I’m kind of hoping some of that will die down in a few years.” That sort of talk had always left him feeling exposed, whether it was true or not. There had been wild rumors about him and Melinda for a while after an op that had left them mostly naked and blood soaked.

He got out of the office, eventually, with an appointment and a promise for hard copy files only. Phil worked hard in the hours and days before his appointment to find easy opening statements. To be able to lay out the bare facts of his life first so that there might be context for any emotions he might eventually talk about. Still though, after 30 minutes of mostly three word answers as Dr. Grosz did the intake, he found himself unable to find a place to start.

After a very long and silent five minutes, Dr. Grosz sighed and leaned back into her chair, a cushioned sofa like monstrosity obviously meant to give the entire room a more relaxed quality. She took off her rimless glasses and tucked a stray brunette bit of hair behind her pale ear and slipped off her shoes so she could tuck her legs under her body on the chair. Phil reassessed the chair, it was possible she had just decided that if she was going to sit all day and talk to people, the doctor figured she might as well be comfortable.

“Okay,” she started, “based off your file, your background and quite frankly the awed whispers that sometimes follow you down the hall, I’m betting you’ve done a fair amount of research before stepping foot inside this office.”

Phil nodded.

“So you know there are several different, but perfectly valid forms of talk therapy.”

Phil nodded again.

“You also know that my preference is for letting the patients ramble, directing them every so often with the occasional pointed question?”

More nodding.

Dr. Grosz looked at him, it wasn’t a casual glance, but a look Phil had come to know from the best operatives he’d worked with. It was an examination with her eyes that left nothing unexamined. It was a little like the first time he’d met Natasha. 

“There’s an old writer’s trick,” Grosz said slowly, carefully picking her words, “where by if you sit down, at the same time, every day and just write whatever comes to mind, you eventually train your brain to loosen up its grip on the words you actually want to write.” She paused waiting once again for Phil to acknowledge her, “Well, it can work similarly in talk therapy, we don’t have to start right at the problem, we can just talk for a little while.”

On the surface, that sounded excellent and quite frankly a little bit like a good op, but entering into Dr. Grosz’s office was like a vacuum cleaner for his accumulated small talk experience.

“However,” she said, twirling idly at her long gold necklace and heavy pendant, “I recognize, based on the few things Clint has said to me and the few things I can glean from your intake form and the quick perusal of your service and medical record, thanks for that by the way,” she shot him a genuine smile which made him think that despite everything he was actually coming at this more openly than some other agents, “I recognize that even this might be too difficult to break through walls that are decades old.”

Phil’s eyes widened in surprise at how much Dr. Grosz had been able to glean already, it both made him nervous and flooded his body with relief. Maybe he wouldn’t have to spell it all out.

“So,” she said, smiling gently, “when was the exact moment you decided you needed to make an appointment.”

Phil shifted, deliberately trying to relax, he could do this. “Clint,” he said, “it was Clint.”

In fits and starts and with careful questions, Dr. Grosz managed to slowly peel away the the layers of his story. It was actually a bit of a shock how often it began and ended with Clint. Later, thinking it over, he realized that it couldn’t have been any other way.

At first the sessions left him feeling over exposed a raw but slowly he stopped feeling hyper aware as he left the office. He was shocked to find out he couldn’t actually say, “I’m gay,” during that first session, or even during the immediate subsequent sessions. The words were hard enough to think, to say them seemed like a red light for terrible things to happen. He didn’t actually find anything wrong with homosexuality, never felt any fear or anger towards few gay people he’d met over the years, though all things considered, it was probably more than a few, never felt discomfort or fear. Still, the idea of openly acknowledging it made him irrationally fear for his career and only slightly rationally fear for his person.

Two weeks into Clint’s enforced down time Phil managed to impress upon Fury that maybe Phil shouldn’t be sent out without Clint. He found himself too worried about his state of mind and Clint’s body and he wanted to put time and effort into breaking the habits that had Clint worrying through his stomach lining and Phil _missing_ that level of worry from the person he cared about the most.

In the middle of a clear and well thought out argument Fury stood up, walked around his desk and then settled casually on the edge nearest Phil.

“Okay, I can justify it,” Fury said, “now tell me what’s really going on.”

Phil froze and then sighed. “It’s my fault.”

“And?” Fury prompted, almost kindly.

“I don’t want it to be my fault anymore,” Phil admitted quietly. “He’s been so patient while I flailed around in the dark. He hid it from me, you know?”

Fury nodded, “Yeah, I thought so.”

They sat there in silence for a while. Eventually, Fury got up, unlocked a small cabinet in the back of his office and procured a small flask and two glasses. He poured them each a generous shot after sitting back down. He gestured pointedly at Phil to drink. As the burn of excellent scotch faded from his throat, Fury did the same and then started talking, “Phil,” he said after taking his down in one gulp, “I used to worry that one day I’d wake up and find out you’d eaten your gun out of hopelessness.”

Phil nearly dropped the glass in his hands, his head snapped up to meet Fury’s gaze. “What?”

“Hell,” Fury chuckled, “half the reason I pushed for some of Barton's certifications was to get him high enough that you'd at least have another friend, someone with a mouth big enough to let something slip, like worry, without you getting defensive. Don’t get me wrong,” he cut off any argument Phil might have made about Clint’s skills being enough for any promotion, ”He deserved each and every one of those commendations and promotions, I just pushed him a little faster.” 

He poured another drink for each of them. “You’re a man who married the job because there was nothing else,” Fury said, “now I’m not saying you need a partner to be happy, but you always had this air about you, of a man separated by bullet proof glass from what he really wanted.”

Phil’s throat burned and his skin went hot and tight. He took the second shot and downed it easily. “Nick,” he said, “I would never—”

“You’re right,” Fury nodded, crossing his arms tightly, “it wouldn’t be that obvious, it’d be some mission in some far off land where you chose a plan before thinking through all the possibilities because just maybe you didn’t care as much about getting back as you should.”

Phil flinched because in the few moments of time he’d been able to make himself think that day in the warehouse with the machine that had changed his life, about why he’d gone left instead of right, there’d been a nagging feeling that maybe he’d just decided that left was easier.

The quality of the silence thickened. “Motherfucker,” Fury hissed, “you already did. Goddamnit Phil, tell me why I shouldn’t suspend you right now.”

“Because I’m trying now,” Phil said hoarsely, “I’m really trying now.”

Fury stared at him, a hard, burning stare that Phil felt to his bones and it was difficult not to look away in shame. Fury finally slumped and picked up his full glass. “You’re going to psych?” he asked before throwing back the shot, “That’s not just a vicious rumor?”

Phil nodded, voice suddenly bereft.

“Fine,” Fury said, “you get the run of Barton’s meds to make me feel like I’m not sending my best friend on a suicide mission the next time I send him out, okay?”

Phil nodded again, still silent, he replaced his empty glass on the desk and stood to leave but just by the door he stopped again. “I’m sorry,” Phil said unevenly, not looking back, “you know. I actually had no idea I was this much of a mess.”

“Aww, Cheese,” Fury sighed, “you’re not a mess, you’re just human.”

Phil shrugged, human had never felt so fragile.

His appointment wasn’t for another 30 minutes but two shots of 100 year old Scotch gave him a level of liquid courage he’d not had in quite a while. Phil’s appointment had a certain amount of buffer built in because his job meant that sometimes there was no choice but to stay in a meeting about that funny fellow in Bulgaria who kept posting manifestos on bulletin boards with disturbing topics. So Dr. Grosz tended to schedule him around a meal, dinner usually. When Phil showed up looking disheveled and nervous the do not disturb signal was up on the door before he could finish sitting down.

“My best friend is worried I was going to commit suicide by mission,” he blurted, it was as good a place to start as any.

Dr. Grosz paused, gave him a critical look and waited.

“I don’t think I will?” Phil said.

“Okay,” Dr. Grosz said, “then let’s talk about how that made you feel.”

Phil grimaced but nodded. This wasn’t just an exercise, two people who cared about him were worried, he was afraid to even ask Maria, Jasper or Melinda, because two was a coincidence but three was a pattern and he wasn’t sure he could take a pattern just yet.

That night, he slid into the apartment with a tired sigh. The 60 minutes in Dr. Grosz’s office had been difficult and terrifying and he’d left feeling metaphorically naked but maybe just a little unburdened. From experience he knew he needed time. A meal and a bed shared with Clint for five to seven hours was usually enough balm for his raw nerves. There was a delicious scent in the air and Clint was leaning over a large pot stirring it idly. In the sink there was a strainer filled to the brim with steaming noodles. From the look and faint smell, they were egg noodles.

“Hey,” Clint said without looking up, but the tone was soft and welcoming. “I felt like comfort food and thought that cooking my own would mean an easier time on my stomach.”

Phil dropped his briefcase out of the way and slides his jacket, tie and shoes off eagerly before padding to the kitchen and pulling Clint in to a one armed, front to back hug. “Stew?” Phil asked once he got a good look at the pot.

“Goulash,” Clint nodded, “it was a favorite of the bearded lady. She taught it to me one winter when half the crew got the flu.” As he stirred, Clint explained to Phil how goulash could be made with less than prime chunks of meat and could be stretched with cheap carbs like rice. “A little bit after I joined SHIELD I did some quick research and bought the fanciest cut of meat I’d ever laid eyes on and cooked up a batch.” 

He reached for two large pasta bowls and used a set of tongs to layer a bed of fresh noodles on the bottom. “I was feeling homesick I guess and out of sorts, so I decided to make an old favorite, but with the best money could buy.” Clint ladled a careful portion into each bowl, smack in the center of the noodle pile. “Don’t get me wrong,” Clint said, turning in Phil’s embrace to kiss his cheek, “Olga’s stew was always good, she’d spring for good herbs and spices from time to time, but that night’s stew was a revelation.”

“My first high end steak house,” Phil kissed Clint’s nose, “and calling it a steak house is like calling a fine wine, aged grape juice, I had the strangest experience of a steak smelling exactly like it tasted, which was mouth meltingly amazing.”

Clint laughed and disentangled himself from Phil and grabbed their bowls. Phil followed with two bottles of beer and the Brita pitcher. 

The food was excellent and comforting and just what he needed after the last few hours. They both cleaned their bowls with gusto and Clint dashed away to refill them for a second portion. Phil was putting a forkful of tender noodles and even more tender beef into his mouth when Clint asked why Fury broke out the good stuff. He’d smelled it on Phil’s breath.

“If it’s classified,” Clint smiled, “Just give me one blink for cancel our weekend plans and two blinks for cancel our newspaper subscription.”

When Phil didn’t laugh along with him Clint’s face dropped. “What’s wrong?”

“Director Fury,” Phil started, but paused, “Nick,” he corrected because it had been his friend he was drinking with, not the head of a multinational intelligence agency, “agreed to bench me until you finish your course of treatment.”

“But,” Clint frowned harder, “that’s the only time you feel like yourself.”

For a second time that day Phil’s head snapped up in shock. “What?”

Clint drained the last of his beer but didn’t speak right away, it was obvious he was struggling for the right words.

“Just say it,” Phil whispered.

“When we first got back to taking missions, after everything that happened, it was like watching the sun come out from a cloud,” Clint said carefully, “You went on duty and it was like a switch was flipped, suddenly that hesitation I saw take hold of you melted away.”

It was like the bottom had dropped out and he was without any handholds. His heart was trying to beat its way through his chest and it was hard catching his breath. He tried to take a sip from his water glass but his hands were shaking. “Why—” he swallowed, “why didn’t you _say_ something?”

Clint was in front of him before he was done asking, he pulled the chair away from the table and went to his knees in front of him. Pulling Phil’s hands into his and squeezing them tightly. “What was I supposed to say? It’s disturbing how good you are at your job and how nothing could get in the way? That it was a relief to see you finally stop looking uncomfortable in your own skin?”

Phil remembered how relieved he’d been every time something from before the change hadn’t been affected. He remembered how much more settled he’d felt after taking down a hand to hand opponent or hitting the bullseye time after time on the range. Going back into the field had intensified that to the nth degree. He remembered feeling relief that he could still lead a mission, even as it went to hell, even as his team slowly went a little crazy from lack of sleep or downtime. He remembered the strange feeling of utter relaxation as he bedded down for his 5 hours of sleep despite being in a terrible hotel on the other side of the world from home with a gun under his pillow.

“Right,” Clint said eventually, “you see what I’m saying. So tell me why you got yourself benched and don’t say it’s because you can’t imagine a mission without my very own special brand of chaos.”

It was hard to decide what to say, should he tell Clint the original reason, that he couldn’t even admit to his own sexuality inside a locked room with someone sworn to secrecy who already knew it anyway or that he’d nearly done something irreparable and had barely even realized it. “I can’t say it,” Phil eventually got out.

“This is a judgment free zone,” Clint said with a small smile, bringing Phil’s hands up for a kiss.

“No,” Phil said, unable to help the matching smile that came to his face, “I mean I can’t say _it_.”

Clint gave him the head wiggle of ‘go on, I need another hint’.

“That I—” he stopped and started again, “that we—” no that wasn’t right either. “That I wasn’t happy until—”

“Had amazing, sweaty, sweaty sex on my couch, which by the way we are never getting rid of,” Clint’s eyes twinkled.

“No, I mean yes, but no.”

“That we essentially went from colleagues and friends to engaged to be married in 48 hours or so and somehow it didn’t end up like a cautionary tale from the 80s?” Clint was inching his way forward, insinuating himself between Phil’s knees.

“Not that either,” Phil huffed, only slightly annoyed.

“Discovered that my ass is the thing in which sonnets are written about?” He leaned in nuzzled Phil’s stomach through his shirt, letting out a delightful puff of warm air.

“No!” Phil arched into it.

“Then what?” Clint asked, releasing Phil’s hands to inch their way around his waist.

“That I’m gay!” Phil gasped as Clint’s fingers molded themselves to his ass and he nuzzled against the quickly hardening bulge in his groin.

Clint looked up then, pleased smile lighting up his face. “There it is,” he murmured, kissing Phil softly.

“Ass,” Phil whispered back, adrenaline pumping wildly, he’d said it and the world hadn’t ended. Miracle of miracles. He touched Clint’s face gently, sweeping a thumb over his cheekbone. 

“You love it,” Clint said just before kissing him again.

Since the timing wasn’t as ideal as last time, he and Clint were assigned smaller teaching modules rather than an entire course. Being a special instructor was occasionally its own reward. Phil’s Improvised Weaponry seminar was always a hoot and Clint’s situational awareness pop quizzes, involving nerf arrows and scopes that bent around corners usually left half the senior staff smiling, even if he managed to catch them off guard.

Since they were both grounded, Dr. Grosz recommended using their fortuitous melding of schedules, usually even if they were both on base their schedules would only line up around the time they were commuting home, to take a few appointments together. She was quick to assure both of them that she wasn’t recommending couples therapy because she found problems with their relationship, just that they both had communication issues and found certain things difficult to talk about once, let alone twice.

Clint ducked an embarrassed head and agreed quickly after that.

“So,” she said when they’d settled in, “anything on your mind?”

Clint snorted. “I gotta tell you doc, sometimes I think you like me doing your job for you.”

“What can I say? I’m lazy.”

Phil watched Clint banter with ease and found some bit of anxiety unwind at the idea that Clint had made an effort to be more than just cordial. A few minutes of light conversation eventually settled into a more serious tone.

“I told Clint I’m gay,” Phil said, feeling brave. All three of them froze before bursting into laughter. Phil snorted up a giggle. “Just in case he didn’t know.”

Dr. Grosz had her head in her hands. “Don’t get me wrong Phil, I’m proud of your progress, but oh my god, I’m sure your husband was shocked at this revelation.”

“Knocked my socks off,” Clint said between guffaws.

His, quite possibly, absurd declaration broke the ice and they spent the next half hour talking about things they wanted to do but felt held back for one reason or another. They made a short list of ideas that they both wanted to tackle sooner or later and eventually Phil felt full of potential instead of empty. The last five minutes though, took a serious turn.

“I feel bad about tricking it out of him,” Clint said, “I don’t like forcing Phil to do things he’s not comfortable with.

Phil looked at Clint in surprise, “Why?”

Clint prevaricated, “A couple things,” he reached he fidgeted with the edge of his shirt, “It seemed really important that Phil decide for himself some stuff and I feel like making him say it, I don’t know, confines him in some way.”

It was strange to listen to Clint talk about him in the third person in a room that wasn’t a debriefing, but it seemed to be easier for him to say difficult things that way.

“Confine him?” Dr. Grosz asked.

Clint blushed. “When all of this started,” he began, “it was— I was—,” he shifted around, curling his legs up into his chest, “I wanted it to work, I really wanted it to work.”

Phil’s chest clenched and he worried at how selfish those first hours had been.

“So I decided that if it was going to work,” Clint said slowly, “I had to do more than just sit back, cross my fingers and hope for the best.”

Phil’s eyes widened in surprise. “You started researching that early?” A few months into their relationship it had become clear to Phil that Clint had sat down at some point and hammered out a plan, how detailed it had been was still a mystery but it had become obvious that there were bullet points that Clint was following. It made Phil feel warm and comforted, the effort that Clint was making, just for him. He hadn’t felt that particular warmth in a long time, it was part of what had made Phil try so hard for Clint.

“Yeah,” Clint shrugged, “I didn’t want to stumble over something and hurt you, you know?” He braided their fingers together. “God Phil, you asked me if sex was always like that. I wanted to murder someone, anyone I could blame. I think about how long you spent thinking that—” he stopped, voice choked in emotion. “I spent three solid months convinced you’d had something terrible happen to you as a kid or something.”

It was automatic, the quick run through his own life to see if there was the kind of incident Clint was talking about. He must have made a face or something because next to him Clint tensed.

“What?” He asked sharply.

Phil shook his head, “No, it’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?” Clint demanded, his entire body was subtly leaning towards Phil.

“I was 15 when Harvey Milk was assassinated,” Phil said quietly. “I was just getting out of college in the middle of the AIDs hysteria and I spent a good amount of time in the military before and after Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was implemented and honestly I couldn’t tell you which was worse.” Phil shifted on the couch to face Clint fully, tugging the knees he had pulled up to his chest away. He cupped Clint’s face gently and said, “Nothing that I was experiencing, or not experiencing, seemed worth dealing with that explosive and deadly can of worms. At least, that’s what I told myself.”

Clint’s swallow was audible and his eyes wide and grim. “You’re so brave.”

“I’m really not,” Phil said.

“Why?” Dr. Grosz asked.

They both jumped, having been so caught up in each other, in their own pain that their situational awareness had dimmed to just the couch. They shared an amused look, both savoring the irony. 

“Why what?” Phil asked, still looking at Clint.

“Why aren’t you brave?”

Phil froze and then looked away.

“Because,” Clint said, words suddenly hoarse, “oh god, because you weren’t just having an off day were you?”

Phil said nothing, sparing a thought to wonder at Clint’s amazing mind, tactically he could put together a threat assessment without much more than a map and a prayer.

“Jesus Christ, Phil, I thought maybe there’d been a distraction or you were coming down with a bug or something, I read that whole AAR because what I’d heard over the comms hadn’t made sense, but,” he choked off the words, seemingly unable to finish the sentence.

That day there had been very few options, but at the time Phil had made his decision they only had a vague supposition for what half the equipment in the lab was supposed to do and the hostages had been getting antsy, but it was still a relatively stable situation. Then the woman, the scientist, had offered a trade. The lead agent for the pregnant woman, the two injured lab assistants and 2 more of his choosing. 

He’d taken it without a second thought, tactically it wasn’t a terrible decision considering their other assets on the ground and the other plans in place, but if Phil had held back even five minutes, well, the other options would have presented themselves. As it was, the woman wasn’t going to be talked down, but 10 minutes after Phil had walked in, unarmed, Natasha had gotten the schematics for the entire base, which had included a network of closed tunnels. Unfortunately by that time, the only true distraction left was to volunteer to be a subject and hope that his team would do what needed to be done while his captor was distracted by her own dials and switches.

Technically, he had done nothing wrong, but the truth was he hadn’t searched that hard for other options. He’d been tired and strung out. It had been one of those months where missions kept postponing down time and he’d had a lingering injury already from a previous op. The only problem was that if you knew Phil Coulson, the entire thing was just plain out of character, but most everyone had blamed it on mission fatigue and considering the situation, he had gotten an extended vacation time anyway.

“I honestly didn’t know I’d done it at the time,” Phil said only to be tackled into a hug by Clint. 

“You are brave,” Clint whispered fiercely, “I mean, you let Natasha take you bra shopping.” They shared a choked laugh into each other’s shoulders.

Almost every agent puts in for a 9 to 5 assignment every so often, usually because there’s a series of chores they need to finish that required banking hours. Advances in communication and internet security have whittled down the long list of things one needs to be actually present for during working hours on a regular basis. Buying a house, however, required a certain amount of availability. Six months after they joined checking accounts and a few weeks into joint therapy, Phil contacted the real estate firm SHIELD liked to use in the tri state area.

The plummeting real estate market had finally hit New York City and both interest rates and housing rates were dropping like rocks. The only hard part would be securing a mortgage, Banks were closing pocket books left and right and even SHIELD’s civilian contractors were having issues, despite government backed certification. It was a mess. That being said, their joint bank accounts gave them more than enough for a solid 45% down payment with a chunk of change left over for security and other renovations while not making too sizable a dent in their combined assets.

Clint went tense as Phil’s driving had them traversing nicer and nicer neighborhoods. The houses around them went from connected row houses to free standing brick faces with attic windows and two chimneys. What really signaled the change over was the shift of postage stamp sized greeneries into larger patches of lawn that could actually be called a yard and not just a bit of decoration to soften the concrete edges.

They stepped out of the car under the canopy of decades old trees, all different types, too much variation for a city maintained block. They must have passed into The Gardens. Phil wasn’t as familiar with this part of Queens but he knew a bit from some old stories about the US Open during Word War II and the occasional UN ambassador that took up residence there. 

“Well,” Clint muttered under his breath, “I like the brick work.”

The agent, Rebecca, stepped out of her car and immediately handed Phil a piece of paper to put on his dash which only confirmed his suspicions. “Hold on,” he said, “what are the construction limitation in this neighborhood?”

Rebecca paused, shuffled inside her well worn briefcase and found a stack of paperwork stapled together. She handed it to Phil who skimmed it. “What if I were to say, replace the wood framed windows with reinforced steel that looked exactly like wood?”

Her wince said it all.

Clint’s eyes went wide. “Seriously?”

She proceeded to tell them about a home owner who had replaced his broken wooden garage door with a much sturdier, more weather proof, non wood one whose faux wood facade was so perfect you had to walk right up to it and knock on it to figure out the difference.

“Someone literally did that, didn’t they?” Phil asked dryly.

“Yep,” Rebecca sighed, going back into her briefcase, “let me grab the other addresses.”

“Yeah,” Phil agreed, “because the only way this neighborhood would work is if I staged a coup of the board, and I just don’t have the time.”

Clint snickered. “It’d be hilarious to watch though.”

“Maybe for our silver anniversary,” Phil said idly, only flushing slightly when he realized it was awfully close to planning for retirement, even if it was mostly a joke. It was a few minutes before he realized he’d never really envisioned retirement before, but as Clint slid into the car next him, relaxing as they wound their way out of the The Gardens, he found the idea of planning for a future further away than a couple of months incredibly appealing.

They ended up narrowing it down to two houses right on the edges of the fancy community, the individual brickwork and style bled off into the surrounding neighborhoods, so did the quiet streets. The houses still had plenty of room and often had tree fences tall enough to give a real feeling of privacy. Phil wanted an office, Clint a gym, well okay, Phil kind of wanted it too, they both wanted a safe room of some sort and a weapon’s locker and a few other tricks that took up inches of space that eventually added up.

Clint also wanted a backyard with a large tree and room for a hammock. Phil imagined a sun dappled afternoon and a sleepy Clint supported by rough woven cotton with bare feet peaking over the edges and Phil decided he wanted that too.

Eventually they settled on the one with the updated kitchen and master bath but the unfinished basement and second living room, as the floor map called it, Clint was already trying out new names for it.

“Home theater?” Clint suggested.

“We really need a formal living room?” Phil asked.

Clint nodded, then perked up, “Practice range?”

“You’d get bored with single targets and I’m not plastering holes in the walls.” Phil shot down, it wasn’t a real suggestion anyway, any practice range for Clint had to have miles of of space or a damn fine simulator.

“Sex dungeon?” Clint pinned Phil to the empty wall next to staircase.

“On the first floor? How gauche.”

They both laughed quietly.

“So,” Clint said, rolling off Phil to take his own place next to him on the wall, looking up the staircase to the second floor. “We’re really doing this huh?”

Phil thought about it what was next, escrow accounts, paperwork, assessments, credit checks, it was all alarmingly domestic but Clint slid his hand into his and he decided he was actually looking forward to it. Even if buying real estate in New York was 8000 times more complicated than almost any other state. Except Massachusetts. And California. “I think we are,” he finally said, words quiet in the empty house.

They both took deep breaths, trying to imagine the cavernous space surrounding them as theirs.

“Hey,” Clint elbowed him, “do me a favor?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t make me sign the down payment check? When I signed over first and last month’s rent on my apartment it took me weeks to recover.”

“Agreed.”

Rebecca promised that she’d get the paperwork started and Phil assured her they used the same law firm as everyone else in SHIELD. Made life easier to secure only one firm instead of multiple firms. In reality there was a division of Latham & Watkins that worked inside the NYC SHIELD base and were technically SHIELD agents first, but it was good enough for government. There was still probably going to be a solid six month wait. Phil was informed that Banks were routinely asking for upwards of three assessments before being satisfied.

“Well,” Phil said, “it’s not like we don’t have a busy schedule, we’ll probably need to clear a date for the closing months in advance anyway.”

She nodded, relieved he wasn’t going to kick up a fuss. After that it was off to Clint’s landlord, his lease ending soon was part of what had kick started the home search, they needed to negotiate for a 6 month lease with extension options. It was a hard bargain because they weren’t sure when it would happen but Phil kept on his Agent Coulson face and eventually they agreed to a slight increase in rent to make up for the uncertainty.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Yes. I miscounted. There were two chapters in one folder. So. Yes. 4. Also, I'm sending this up now because I'm having pre-migraine symptoms and I'd rather put out what I can while I can look at a monitor than get ideas while feeling mostly better and just retriggering the whole thing.

Six weeks after Phil had slunk, shamefaced, out of Fury’s office, he came back with two pieces of paper. The first was Clint’s provisional clearance from medical, saying that he could return to active duty assuming he maintained a gentle diet and attempted to reduce stress. That last one was actually in quotes. Yeah, medical knew the people they were working with. Though truth be told, Clint would relax once he was back on rotation.

The second sheet of paper was a xerox copy of the final signature sheet on the initial contract for the house.

Fury looked at it. “Nice neighborhood.”

“We thought so,” Phil said, muscles stiff with tension.

“Am I invited to the house warming?”

“That depends,” Phil shifted on his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets, “are you going to inflict a traditional house warming casserole on us?”

“Depends on how much you and Agent Barton piss me off between now and then.”

Phil relaxed, opportunities to piss of the Director usually meant missions. “Well, if you’ll sign the release we’d be happy to get on that as soon as possible.”

Fury snorted. “Yeah well Black Widow has been lounging around the the lower agents break room looking murderous. I’m sending you three out before someone accidentally gets themselves killed.”

Phil let a genuine smile loose then. He had caught both Clint and Natasha with their heads bowed together and secret smiles coloring their faces. Natasha had been in and out on missions, but even with years of loyal SHIELD service behind her, there were still agents who got too jumpy working with her, so mostly she’d been on solo outings or taking only a small part in much larger actions.

As much as the idea bothered him, that as soon as the plane was off the ground he slipped back into work like a hot knife through butter even after the most turbulent or emotionally fraying weeks of his life, it was soothing. Clint gave him him a knowing smile after Phil had settled in among the backdrop of milling agents, asking pointed questions and giving decisive orders. What was different was that Phil could feel his face warming just a tad more than it would have a few months earlier. He gave Clint a soft smile and quick wink before getting back to work.

They spent a good six weeks swimmingly busy, if they weren’t off to some small and dirty corner of the world to bag and grab a mid level enforcer for some terrible group of people intent on making money off the destruction of others, they were in some part of Europe that never actually saw sunshine and despite spending most of it indoors, Phil never actually got drier than damp. In between orders Phil would see a stream of update emails from Rebecca, mostly explaining how stingy banks were despite his and Clint’s impeccable credit scores.

When they were home in their apartment, their post mission checklist now included empty cardboard boxes, packing tape and moving stickers. Phil privately added a few more things to the list, if Clint could have a popsicle plan, then he could have a ‘well golly gee, look at that bottle of lube, now whatever will we do with that?’ check list.

All thoughts of taking it slow and stretching it out over a few weeks fled from his mind the first time he let his fingers skip past Clint’s opening. Clint bucked sharply and then moaned. “Oh Phil, yes please,” Clint said pulling him close, his kiss going desperate and dirty. “I’ve wanted,” he gasped as Phil slowly pushed one slick finger inside, “yes,” he hissed, “that.”

Like many other things recently, it wasn’t exactly something he hadn’t done before, but something about not needing the harness, about knowing it would be his cock breaching Clint open and wide, fucking him soft and pliant until he could do nothing but huff out little whines of pleasure, made it all the more electric.

Despite their unspoken months of embargo on this act, it took very little time for Phil to have three fingers moving in and out of Clint with ease. He wanted to work Clint up to a frenzy because he knew, like with that first blowjob, it would be the beginning of the end as soon as he was surrounded by the indecently decedent heat that was Clint Barton’s body.

Eventually Clint’s hands stopped his, he’d been distracted staring as his fingers disappeared and reappeared. “Now please?” Clint smiled at him, his pupils huge and face flushed with pleasure.

“Yeah,” Phil nodded, leaning in to kiss Clint in what was supposed to be a brief interlude. It lasted through several long and wet exchanges. Soon, Clint guided him between his legs and then leaned back, waiting more patiently that Phil could ever give him credit for. His hands shook as he lined up and the first slow push was a revelation, a sensation that he was slowly getting used to, finding out things that humbling about his own body. 

They both paused when Phil bottomed out, taking shaky breaths. “You okay?”

Clint gave his hips a shallow roll and then sighed happily. “Never better.”

The tiny movement made an entirely new layer of sweat break out all over Phil’s skin. Clint clenched and rippled around him and it was once again a transformative moment. Other men might have felt weak by the number of times Phil had found himself brought to tears of joy and happiness by the act of loving another human being, but Phil had come to terms with the few drops of salty liquid dropping from the corners of his eyes every so often. They meant Clint was there with him.

“You okay?” Clint asked, wiping away an errant tear.

Phil gave his own experimental roll, discovering the tiny details between this movement and the ones needed to work with the harness. “So incredibly okay,” Phil assured him. “I love you,” he said starting with a slow rocking motion, still in awe at the absolute perfect heat and pressure holding him in.

Clint’s gasp and stuttered moans were a delicious counter point to sensation of his body welcoming Phil over and over again. It stayed slow only long enough for Clint to arch and beg for more, after that it was firm, hard strokes that left Phil breathless and Clint begging.

He’d been right, it was going to be quick but Clint looked about as wrecked as Phil felt so when Phil’s toes started to curl in pleasure, he wrapped his hand around Clint’s cock and pulled, running his thumb firmly over the bundle of nerves just below the head. The slap of their bodies sent larger and larger shocks of pleasure through Phil, tumbling from the center and into his extremities until with a ragged whine Clint pulled him as close as possible and shuddered under him and around him, milking his cock so perfectly that three uneven thrusts later he came, shaking apart in Clint’s arms.

After, Phil found himself burying his face into Clint’s shoulder, unable to look up. Something about the act of penetration, about how it was as close as he was going to get to anything he’d done in his distant past to compare to his life after Clint Barton and yet the difference couldn’t be compared at all, was emotionally unsettling. Clint held him close and nuzzled his temple quietly.

“Okay?”

“Just,” Phil said shaking, “it was perfect.”

“Yeah?” Clint asked, voice going high with a mixture of proud and fond.

“I didn’t know it could be,” Phil swallowed, “I know I did this once before,” referring to those moments after they’d finished having sex that first time, when he’d been overwhelmed, “but as much as I was predisposed to be attracted to you, to love you, I was still a man in a woman’s body and I think I didn’t give my brain enough credit, I didn’t realize that being in my correctly gendered body would make that much of a difference.”

“I cannot believe I’m saying this but,” Clint stroked Phil’s messy hair and kissed his cheek, “but Phil Coulson has a habit of underestimating himself.”

Phil laughed and pressed a messy kiss into the Clint’s neck before finally drawing away, sliding out of Clint’s body at the same time. Clint made a choked noise and shuddered appreciatively.

“By the way,” Clint said, stretching languorously, “it was good for me too.”

Something about that night helped Phil settle even further into his own body. It gave him an inch of confidence that seeped into all aspects of his life, not just the at work ones. 

It was helpful the next time he was stuck in a van on location, during a thunderstorm and lightening took out their main transmitter. With comms down no one had any idea what was going on and Clint was stuck alone, in the bar, with no back up and he wouldn’t know it because he was on a radio silence protocol which meant there were no incoming transmissions at the moment. 

As it was, Phil had been about thirty minutes from calling the op on account of terrible, terrible timing. The mark was thirty minutes past his usual routine, something must have come up. That was the problem with deeply closeted terrorists, you couldn’t always count on their ability to get away to the private and secretive gay club a hundred miles or so from his loving wife.

“Okay,” Phil sighed, “who wants to pick up Barton?”

If awkward could have had a sound, that would have been the silence that followed his request. The three men in the van made the most amazing effort not to look anyone else in the eye. Always when they borrowed from other agencies this sort of thing happened. “Fine.” He stripped off his tie and unbuttoned his top two buttons. After shoving the tie haphazardly into his pocket he ran a hand through his hair, purposefully unsettling it just a bit. When he stood he took the time to twist his upper body left and then right, artfully pulling at his otherwise neatly tucked in shirt just enough to look well worked in. 

“We’ll be out in ten, pick us up two blocks east,” Phil grabbed a spare umbrella and was almost out the door when he heard a smothered sound, something a cross between a cough and a snicker. He paused. “Something funny, gentlemen?”

“Well,” the tallest one, Michaelson, said. He was all chiseled jaw and dark hair, “I”m sure in the right situation you’ve got game, sir,” the sir was almost an afterthought, “but if the idea is to keep Agent Barton’s cover I don’t know if you picking him up will help.”

Phil sighed. God save him from handsome young men. “Well, since no one else volunteered, there really wasn’t much of a choice. Beyond that, Agent Barton and I have worked together for over ten years and if he sees me appear in that bar without it being part of the original plan, I’m sure he’ll be able to figure out the best way to make contact.” He paused again, just about to exit the van. “Also Agent Barton isn’t actually that much younger than me.”

He let them ponder that, vaguely insulted by his perceived lack of ‘game’. It was only as he entered the establishment that he realized he was going to publicly pick up a man. It wasn’t the first time, in the name of duty, he’d used this particular extraction technique, or even the first time with a male agent. Somehow it still felt momentous and very, very public.

Still, Clint found him within moments of entering the bar, his seat having been selected to give him the best view of the entrances and exits, so it wasn’t really a surprise. The quick heated look that took over Clint’s face and set a spark deep in his belly was. Phil made his way slowly to the bar, making sure to put just enough weariness into his step and posture that he read simply as an office drone who’d had a long day.

The bar was just upscale enough to have an unofficial dress code. So Clint’s well muscled but still lean frame was encased in exceptionally well tailored black trousers that hugged him perfectly as he slumped over the bar in his barstool and a collared shirt that was just silken enough that it caressed his upper body like an old, silvered, friend. Because he’d been there when Clint had gotten dressed, Phil could just make out the outline of the tight tank top made of thin bullet proof mesh underneath. It was the shirt he would quickly strip down to if he needed to start shooting with his bow. Which was, along side something more traditional and bullet friendly, hidden neatly in the expensive leather briefcase leaning against his leg.

Phil slid into the empty bar stool next to him and ordered a specialty beer. It would come in a bottle and was something he could nurse innocently enough but would be an excellent prop for a few carefully lewd gestures.

Because it was an act, mostly, a role for the sake of Clint’s safety, it was easy to roll his uneasiness off his shoulders and wait patiently.

“You look like you had a tough day,” Clint’s voice was soft and a little rough from beside him.

“Then I look better than I feel,” Phil took what looked like a long drag from his bottle. In reality he held his tongue against the opening and carefully released the seal a few times to simulate the air bubbles of a true sip. In fact he got only a few ounces of beer.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Clint husked, leaning into Phil’s personal space, “you look fantastic, just tired.” Clint took a sip of his own drink and when he put it down his hand was right next to Phil’s. His pinky reached out and traced the edge of his palm. “You also look tense.”

The touch was electric and he didn’t have to fake a reaction to Clint’s presence, only to let it out from under the tight reigns he usually kept it in. “One of those days,” Phil’s voice also went low and rough, “where nothing goes right.”

“Hmm,” Clint hummed, “day isn’t over yet.”

“Oh?”

“I had a long day too,” Clint’s entire body turned on his stool, Phil followed unconsciously and they were facing each other, their knees braided together like teeth on a zipper. “That’s why I came here.”

Phil bumped their legs together playfully, leaning his elbow onto the bar, his beer clutched in his hand. “A toast then?”

Clint gave him a questioning look but raised his glass.

“To great minds,” Phil offered, clinking their drinks together, “and how they can often think alike.”

Clint’s grin went from just a bit saucy to downright salacious. He leaned into Phil’s body until they were barely touching. His lips skimmed Phil’s ear as he whispered quietly. “So, before I very obviously and happily take you home to have my wicked way with you, that _is_ what I’m supposed to be doing, right?”

Phil’s eyes closed briefly at Clint’s proximity, so close to touching, but not actually there. He hummed and nodded, turning his head just so their cheeks skimmed against each other as they parted. “That sounds lovely,” Phil husked, only having to put a minimal effort into sounding affected. 

“It does,” Clint squeezed his thigh and then quickly dropped two twenties on the bar before sliding off the stool. He grabbed his ‘brief case’ in one hand and Phil in the other.

Phil’s warm chuckle followed them out of the bar. “Eager,” he teased as the door closed behind them. It was only drizzling so he let the umbrella stay closed.

“For fuck’s sake, you unbuttoned your shirt,” Clint whined playfully, “how on earth was I supposed to resist that?”

For verisimilitude only, Phil tugged on their joined hands until they were backed against the brick work of the corner of the building the bar sat in. Clint immediately latched onto the corded muscle of Phil’s neck, sucking and biting gently. His fingers found their way to Clint’s hair, whether to keep him there or gently nudge him away, Phil wasn’t sure. Their no sex on missions rule made the contact spark hard because it had been weeks since they’d touched each other like that.

Phil was just getting ready to get them going when a voice called from a distance.

“Major Coulson?”

His stomach dropped at the hauntingly familiar voice and every little bit of heat his body had gleaned from Clint flooded his stomach in a nauseating pit. Clint had stiffened and pulled away automatically, but he’d not done more than turn and prepare to shield Phil from the intruder.

The voice came closer and yeah, it was his old Sargent. 

“Just Coulson now,” Phil said automatically. His rank had been left behind years ago and he was fine with letting it stay that way. The promotion to Major had never felt real anyway, he’d received it only so he could have a high enough rank to liaise with SHIELD. Even then he’d had one foot out the door and had worn only suits to the office and no uniform.

“Yeah,” the gruff older man just about spat, “I can see that.”

Disgust radiated off the older man and in the dark and rainy night he was just a few pale splashes of skin surrounded by dark jeans and a rain coat. It was still enough of a body to discern body language and that language was pretty rude.

Clint was stiff next to him, obviously holding himself back. It was a tricky situation because they didn’t know if there was actual surveillance on the block so Clint couldn’t be himself and usually when a civilian walked into an op there was no standard way to handle because it was too unpredictable. The directives only said to make sure no one got hurt and try to make sure the op didn’t get fucked ten ways from Sunday. 

“Sarge,” Phil tried only to be cut off.

“Don’t call me that,” he said backing off, “don’t call me anything.”

Sometimes, if an operative’s friends or family stumbled over something where the operative was required to act in a manner that was out of character, rude or felonious, special permission was given to read in the unexpected spectator just enough to sooth any worries or wounded pride. Briefly Phil thought about putting in the paperwork but with Clint right next to him, frozen with worry, he knew he could never do that to him because any explanation that would smooth this over would require a very large lie and heap of denial and Phil had it up to his eyebrows with denial.

“Hey,” Clint said quietly, not touching him, “we should go.”

Phil nodded and turned to leave.

“There’s an invitation to the annual picnic in the mail,” Sarge called after his retreating back, “don’t RSVP, there’ll be children there.”

Phil stumbled, like he’d been slapped. Clint led him into a discreet corner where he could heave in relative peace. When the last of the coffee and donuts he’d spent hours sipping and nibbling on finished coming up Clint’s warm hands held him steady while he shook.

“Are you okay to deal with the surveillance van?” Clint asked carefully.

He was going to say yes, but then his entire body shivered and Clint made an executive decision. Phil was too busy trying to stay upright to hear all of the conversation, but a few words filtered through. Like ‘tasha’ and ‘tell them food poisoning’. Later he’d figure out that Clint had played at calling a friend for help and fed Natasha a line to send out to the team waiting two blocks away.

When that was done, Clint flagged down a cab and helped Phil inside before directing them back to the hotel. If there really was surveillance that was detailed enough to get the taxi destination, the mid to high level hotel was easy enough to explain away if needed. 

Clint eventually stripped him out of his rain and sweat soaked suit and shuffled them both into the shower. Phil spent a few spare moments relieved that he and Clint had their own hotel room. It had an adjoining room for the other agents but they could keep it locked if they needed. Under the warm spray of their shower, Clint pulled him into a tight hug and then never quite let him go again. 

“Think you can eat something?” Clint asked later, after he had bundled Phil up into his warmest clothing.

The hollow ache in his stomach said yes even if the lingering nausea said no. Phil nodded anyway. “Soup?” 

Clint disappeared for a little while, apparently going for take out rather than delivery and Phil had too much time to think. He tried writing out the initial report for the evening but he just petered out before he could get to the part about being recognized. He did managed to get in the emergency equipment request because he would not scrap the mission for personal reasons unless he was literally unable to leave his bed and even then he’d been known to occasionally run something important from the hospital room.

Later, after his stomach was full of warm soup and fresh bread, Clint rolled around in the second queen sized bed in the room until it looked freshly slept in before sliding into Phil’s bed. It was a mission first, sharing a bed when there was another available, but Phil didn’t object, he just turned into the inviting curve of Clint’s body and held on tightly.

“I was actually thinking of going this year,” Phil said into the darkened room, lips occasionally catching on Clint’s skin, it was easier to talk when they were relaxing together but not looking at each other’s faces. “I had to miss last year’s because of—”

“Sudden and unexpected boobs?” Clint suggested when Phil’s words failed him.

Phil laughed quietly, “Yes, that. It’s not even that I’d gone to that many of those things recently? You know better than anyone that our job has a hard and unexpected schedule and I was basically the last one left who’d never married, even the single ones were divorced. It was getting awkward.” He stroked the soft skin on Clint’s ribcage. “But something about having to say an absolute no that year made me want to try and say yes this year.”

Clint nodded, understanding in every gesture of his body. “He’s a bigot, you know that, right?”

“Do you think he’ll tell them?” Phil asked instead. 

“I don’t know him well enough to even guess,” Clint said, hugging Phil tight. “I could spin you a few scenarios, but you know them all already and I don’t think it’d be a good idea anyway.”

“Yeah,” Phil said, yawning.

A comfortable silence descended but under his hands, Clint was still tense. Phil waited patiently, he’d get to it eventually. That part of their work with Dr. Grosz was actually sinking in.

“Please,” Clint eventually said, voice strained and hoarse, “tell me you know he’s a bigot.”

“I know,” Phil said, though it was hard to get the words out. 

“Then the rest doesn’t matter so much,” Clint pushed a soft kiss into his skin and Phil relaxed just a bit more.

The next day they finished the up the Op without too much trouble, though Phil did take a lot of care to make sure no one else was around to cause trouble, or that the Sarge didn’t come back looking for a fight. He managed to file the paperwork for an unexpected civilian incursion, but didn’t ask for an special treatment from it. The borrowed agents from the other agency assumed his quiet demeanor and careful scans of the neighborhood some how tied into his supposed food poisoning. He found out that his quick rebound from bad food with only a few dark circles and a wary outlook bolstered his reputation. Phil decided Clint would find that hilarious.

SHIELD maintained a series of PO and voicemail boxes for its agents. They could be used however the agent wanted, most used them for casual acquaintances and distant family. A smaller, but still significant, chunk used them for all their mundane mail, having regular bills and packages delivered there as well. It was an easy security measure to enforce and it made life easier for the department that paid your bills for you when you disappeared into a long term assignment. The SHIELD couriers also had an entire division that dressed up in brown shirts and brown shorts and rolled out in large square brown trucks with UPS stenciled on their sides. Their depot even used the official equipment so if it was backtracked it would look like a regular shipment. Though sometimes, assignments to the ‘brownies’ were used as punishment.

When Phil entered his office the first morning back from the op that dared not speak its name, there was a neatly sealed bundle of personal mail waiting for him. Most agents were encouraged not to open the personal mail in the office, lest they accidentally leave too much data behind, hence the sealed bundles. Since they had already been x-rayed and scanned down to the last molecule, they were considered the safest thing from the office to take home anyway. 

Like always, he dropped the bundle into his briefcase and promptly forgot about it until he was home, where he opened it and found a handful of bills and one hand addressed envelope.

The picnic.

Clint found him not long later, staring at the open card, it had a hand written note from the wife of the man who had been his Lieutenant for a number of years telling him that they all missed him.

“You can still go,” Clint said taking the invitation from him. “I’m mostly sure that asswipe won’t throw a public fit.”

Phil shook his head. “If I go, you go too,” he said, “we’re a package deal.” That had been another long therapy session, about normalizing their relationship in Phil’s head. He still had to remind himself to include Clint in situations he used to avoid completely, for similar reasons.

“That’s not what you said when I gave you my cold,” Clint winked.

“Some things even love can’t help.”

Clint stuck his tongue out at him. “See if I make a 3am tissue run for you again any time soon.” He tapped the card on the table looking at the hand written note. “You know, the easy way out of this is to call her and ask. If she’s the one doing the hand written notes then she probably has a good idea if you,” off of Phil’s glare, Clint corrected himself, “if _we_ would really be that unwelcome.”

It was an idea, but not one Phil could bring himself to implement just yet, instead he turned their attention to the newest stack of paperwork involving their future mortgage. Then after that, they spent a pleasant hour or so pouring over floor plans and making renovation notes. The argument about the best placement for the armory was good natured and soothing.

A few weeks later he and Clint were dining on yet another old recipe of Clint’s that had been dusted off for trial when his cell phone got a ring through from his civilian land line answering service. He gave Clint the ‘one minute’ sign, stood to grab the phone where it had been left on the coffee table and answered. “Hello?”

“Major Coulson?” A feminine voice asked.

“Yes, this is he,” he confirmed, already feeling the cold sweat of fear prickle down his back.

“Hi! This is Michelle, Dan’s wife,” she introduced herself and sounded sincerely friendly while doing it.

“Daniel Hoffman?” Phil asked, just to be sure. 

“Right!” Michelle said, sounding positively cheerful that the introductions had panned out. “I just wanted to confirm something? I got a phone call from Sargent Lambowski saying you’d run into each other in Chicago of all places and that you’d told him you wouldn’t be able to make it to the picnic this year? I just wanted to confirm that since I haven’t gotten your RSVP either way.”

Clint was already at his side, his face must have gone white. “We did run into the Sergeant, yes,” he said to buy some time and to tell Clint more about who he was talking to. Clint took Phil’s free hand and threaded their fingers together, curling around him in a half hug of support.

“Oh,” Michelle sounded sad, “Dan’s been really looking forward to seeing you, we thought since you usually send the invite back almost right away, that there was a good shot this year.”

Phil’s throat clicked dryly. “I’d been thinking about it,” he said carefully.

“Major Coulson,” Michelle said kindly, “if you’re worried about talking about your job, this is a group of people that understands security clearances. Henry, he was a private when you left, came back from a tour not too long ago with stories about a familiar looking man in a fancy suit.”

Something hot and heavy caught in his chest.

“In fact, there’s more than one story that’s come back from deployment with a mild mannered man at the center.” She had a quiet and gentle insistence about her. 

He was trembling, all over. “Mrs. Hoffman—”

“Michelle.”

“Michelle,” Phil said automatically. In his mind he remembered her as he’d met her many years ago. Shorter than most, but strong and strong willed. She’d met Dan at the gym, she was attending kick boxing class while he was just looking for a better weight room than the base had offered. What had stood out to Phil at the time was her kindness and her love despite the fact that she could probably split you in half if you breathed wrong. He’d thought she was an excellent officer’s wife.

“They talk about you every year.”

Phil closed his eyes tightly. “It’s not that,” he started but had to stop to catch his breath and take a sip of the water glass Clint held up to his lips. “It’s not that we’re busy this year, it’s that—” 

In his ear Clint whispered quietly, “Make it his fault, because it is. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Phil swallowed again and then nodded decisively because Clint was right. “It’s that the Sergeant ran into us and took it upon himself to dis-invite me.”

The line crackled in silence for a painful few heartbeats.

“He what?” Michelle’s voice came back, deeper, harder. “Who the hell does that drunk son of a bitch think he is?” 

Phil’s brain was high on adrenaline, hyper aware of everything around him, which meant that Clint’s body pressed against his was a balm in the the imaginary storm buffeting him. Still, even with his thoughts over clocking inside his head he could tell there was a much longer story behind that sentence.

“Wait,” she came back after a muffled thud, “us?”

This was it and he knew it. Not only was it the right thing to do, but it was a great precipice in his life that he’d spent countless hours and energy skirting around and he knew that if he turned away again Clint wouldn’t blame him but Phil would feel small and terrible none the less. “Us, he ran into me and my h-husband.” 

“Fuck,” Michelle spat and Phil was ready to sink into the floor, “no wonder Jamie tried so hard to get an invite elsewhere for that weekend. Shit. You are definitely still invited. You both are. In fact you’re so invited that your presence will transcend time and space and you will have retroactively attended the previous years just by attending this one.”

Phil stumbled into his chair, the relief so heavy he was dizzy. Clint plucked the phone from his hand but waited for his nod before speaking.

“Hey Michelle was it?” He said pleasantly, the kind of pleasant Clint only usually used on close friends. “Yeah this is he, my name’s Clint. Phil had to take a break for a second so I just wanted to let you know that it’s on the schedule now but sometimes our work can— yeah exactly.” Clint grabbed a nearby takeout menu and pen and scribbled down some information. “Got it. Yeah. Um,” he looked over at Phil who had managed to get himself under control again, “yeah he’s good. Hold on.”

Phil took the phone back and put it up to his ear. “I’m back.”

“Listen to me,” Michelle said to him, her voice fierce and protective, “he had no right, do you understand me? No right.”

“Thank you,” Phil said, glad his voice only trembled a little.

“Honestly,” Michelle went on, “there was some speculation when you left as barely a major. Dan and I figured you’d hit a glass ceiling and where too honorable to marry some woman just to get a promotion.”

Phil closed his eyes and sighed. His girlfriend of the time had been more of a story than a reality and by the second soiree he’d been unsubtly invited to attend simply to show off his budding but steady home life as a precursor to being put on the promotion list Phil had resigned himself to probably not even hitting Major. Then Nick Fury had waltzed back into his life and while not quite the director of SHIELD yet, he’d had enough influence to demand what he wanted and he’d wanted Phil. It had gotten him a promotion whose chances were slim, though he was good enough and well liked enough by his men that it wasn’t out of the question. Lieutenant Colonel was never in the cards and the pressure he’d received about bringing his girl around sometime had been too much.

Eventually he’d asked Nick if he truly needed to be in the military to remain their liaison. Nick had informed him that he’d been waiting a good six months for Phil to see the light, he didn’t need no goddamned Major cluttering up his hallway, he needed his friend. When Phil joined SHIELD full time, his job had barely changed.

“Something like that,” Phil said, “thanks for calling Michelle, I really appreciate it.”

“No, thank you, I’ve been looking for a good reason to dis-invite that ass. I know he was good to you guys way back when, but recently he’s just an angry, drunk gambler.” She sighed, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go alternately apologize and yell at my son, Jamie. First for accusing him of being a sullen and troublesome teenager this afternoon and then for being afraid to tell his mom when something was wrong and then apologize again for accusing him of just wanting to duck out of the picnic so he could have sex with his boyfriend.”

With that, it was officially too much information for Phil to handle. “Good luck with that?”

“I’m sorry, I ran out of subtle, that was me telling you it’s really okay. I promise.” Michelle assured him with quiet fondness and then hung up.

That night, after Phil could breath again and eat without the food settling in like a cold rock and Clint had spent his time looking so very proud at him, he slid into bed with a plan.

It was a little shocking how long it took Clint to get the hint, eventually Phil literally huffed in annoyance and covered two of Clint’s fingers in slick lube. His eyes went soft focused and wide with happy surprise and he kissed Phil firmly before slithering back down to his original goal. As he sucked gently at Phil’s cock, a slow finger circled his opening, teasing it in time with careful licks and kisses to his cock.

Far from being weird, Clint’s finger led a one digit revolution of pleasure. By the time he had pushed in oh so gently, Phil was having trouble keeping his breath.

“Okay?” Clint asked, throat all but cock sore, “Phil?”

“Mmhmm,” Phil nodded frantically, trying to get his hips to work in tandem with Clint’s efforts. Clint’s mouth slowed down and there was an uncoordinated push with his hand and then— “Oh!”

“Found it,” Clint murmured, then proceeded to suck Phil’s cock and brush over that spot over and over again until Phil was just mindless with need. His cock ached, it was so hard and Clint’s mouth laved at it, sucking so sweetly and generously, pushing that pulsing ache into something better, sharper. Sweat covered his body and his skin was so sensitive that the sheets kept him just distracted enough to enjoy himself for longer than thirty seconds.

As with all other experiences with Clint, it was just about transcendental and his body seemed to know what it was doing because his hips flexed and his toes curled and his entire self narrowed down to Clint between his legs, until it built so high he could no longer breath. When he came, his entire body seized, stuck in an endless loop of pushing into Clint’s hot and wet mouth and then back onto Clint’s perfect, perfect finger. His back bowed and Clint just kept at it until he was limp and shuddering on the bed.

After that, reality came in snatches, a rough cloth running over his skin, a gentle kiss on his forehead, the covers coming up over him, both of them.

“What ‘bout you?” Phil slurred.

“You were too beautiful,” Clint told him, “I didn’t last.”

Phil got the distinct impression that he was too wrung out to blush, but that his body tried anyway.

The next morning there was an email from Rebecca with tentative closing dates for the house, all three dates were three months away, but it was enough time to deal with scheduling conflicts if it was necessary. After a quick consultation, they chose the middle date and moved on with their plans. He and Clint actually met with SHIELD approved designers and contractors, the appointments had been made well in advance but having a tentative closing date made everyone happier. It meant material costs could be estimated without having to account for too many fluctuations in the world market and while nothing would be ordered until the papers were signed, estimations could be put in for lumber, drywall, what have you.

Their mission schedule had evened out and so an average of two weeks on, one week off became the norm of the day. Not that the week off meant they didn’t go into the office. Everything seemed to fall into place, the closing dates were close enough to the company picnic that it all become one large chunk of time off, including time to supervise the move. So it was like a shock of cold water to find a hand written note in his sealed pile of mail on the next home check in.

_We should talk._

_—Sarge_

He silently showed it to Clint.

“Maybe Michelle read him the riot act?” Clint guessed. “She seemed like the type.”

“Maybe,” Phil agreed, but he had a feeling that wasn’t it at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG DONE. *flops* The universe has plenty more in it, I just think I might take a wee break. Enjoy! (bad word warning: homopbobia tag ain't a joke people)

Clint was the one who remembered that it was okay to do a background check on ‘Sargent Asshole’. It might have seemed intrusive to outsiders, but between their unexpected meeting during an op and then his reaching out after suggesting that Phil remove himself entirely from a group of people and following through on the isolation himself, it was cause enough for official concern.

What came back made Phil’s heart clench just a little, despite Lamboski’s attitude, the series of events laid out in black and white was sad. Cashiered out due to a combination of injury and age, he very obviously flailed for something to do. He spent some monthse with a part time job at a local range, but since students were paying for the lessons and not ordered to obey, it was a poor fit. He stumbled into private tutorial for the enlisted and officers who needed the help to pass qualifications, but even there, Phil could see the hand of the community setting it up. Lambowski had probably chaffed at the help and it quickly spiraled into zero clients and nothing to do. 

His pension and benefits had kept him easily afloat until his booze bills started to slowly pile up, things seemed to hit an even keel for a while after a huge, but one time gambling loss, however even that petered back into nothing soon enough. Phil could read between the lines, the probable untreated depression, the likelihood that he’d never finished outpatient treatment for his injury, the forced retirement like a noose around Lambowski’s neck. He wasn’t the first to go down that road and would probably not be the last.

With trepidation, Phil arranged to meet Lambowski in a large trucker’s rest stop off I-68 in West Virginia. About halfway between where they both lived, respectively. He and Clint arranged for a 48 hour reprieve between one op and the next. They’d drive from Tenessee, a snatch and grab that was in general, overly simple for two level 7 operatives but Fury let Phil take it, stop in West Virginia for their meeting and then hang right and hit D.C. for their SHIELD flight out of the country and on to their next mission.

As Phil parked the car in the eastern lot, as directed, Clint hopped out of the car and did a quick look around. “Well,” he said, leaning against the roof and looking in through the window, “it’s not a setup.”

Phil gave him a thin smile, he’d also had that thought a time or two. He pulled out the chain holding his wedding ring and slid the skin warm metal into his palm. “Here’s a first,” he murmured, sliding it on. He was in a work suit, in a SHIELD undercover car, next to Clint dressed in a standard issue tac suit, they both decided that ‘Sarge’ didn’t need to see the other, skin tight, one, who also was sliding on his own wedding ring.

“United front,” Clint had come around to the driver’s side and opened Phil’s door, holding out his left hand. Phil took it and let himself be pulled out of the car. Still it was weird to be so very much a SHIELD agent and to be married at the same time.

Next to him, Clint snorted at his strange look, “I know, as long as I’m not in my SHIELD gear it doesn’t feel weird, but right now it’s like I’ve got this weight on my left hand.”

“Oh thank god it wasn’t just me,” Phil breathed out, “still, would feel wrong to do this without them.”

They had ten minutes to themselves and for Phil’s palms to start sweating. 

“Hey,” Clint said into Phil’s nervous silence, “we’re on duty and he’s a potential asset, that’s all.”

“I love you,” Phil whispered before purposefully straightening his shoulders and slipping on his sunglasses to protect him from sharp purple/pink rays of sun slowly sinking into the horizon. Eventually, a beat up old saturn was making its way to their corner of the lot.

“I feel like we should have a secret I love you code,” Clint muttered, keeping a careful eye on the approaching car, “like ‘as you wish’ or ‘I know’.”

“Well,” Phil moved to lean casually on their bumper, “I always get that fuzzy feeling when you hand in completed paperwork on time.”

“True, I did start doing that just for you,” Clint nodded, “that furrow between your brow used to look painful, I just couldn’t kick a guy when he was down.”

Their banter ended when the car stopped. Lambowski took his time getting out and Phil couldn’t decide if it was the lingering hip injury or disgust making it hard for him to imagine breathing the same air as Phil and Clint. He was wearing old, faded jeans and a t-shirt with a frayed collar. Inside the car Phil could see one of those plaid jackets that was shaped like a shirt. It was too warm to wear it, even with the slight overcast, June in West Virginia tended to be warm.

“Who’s that?” Lambowski sneered, “and why’s he got a gun?”

“That,” Phil said slowly, “is the man from the other night and we,” he emphasized the pronoun, “are armed because we’re technically on duty. We got special permission for a 48 hour furlough to meet with you.”

Lambowski stared at them, eyes narrowing on occasion. Phil found himself unbowed by the frank appraisal, he wasn’t a young officer anymore and he didn’t crave this man’s approval either.

“I was thinking,” Lambowski glared at Clint who hadn’t held in his contemptuous snicker, “I said,” Lambowski started again, a bit louder, “that I was thinking that we both have a problem and that maybe there was a simple a solution.”

Phil’s stomach fell, he knew where this was going already. The report on Lambowski had included the man’s own research into Phil. He’d gotten about as far as the basic cover story which included a few true items but also excluded others.

“If you’re anything like what I remember,” Lambowski went on, “which is hard to believe really,” he gave Clint a baleful look, “then you’ve already done your research on me.”

“Twenty two thousand in debt, not including extended credit lines,” Phil said blandly.

“Right,” he nodded, “I got debt, you got a secret and some pretty fancy suits, so let’s make a deal.” Lambowski looked damn proud of himself and pretty sure that it was going to go his way.

“Or what?” Phil asked.

“What?”

“Who would you tell? I’m curious,” Phil asked, slowly letting any sympathy he’d felt flow out of his mind.

Lambowski pointed at his left hand, “Your wife for one, your old unit for another. And I bet your boss is probably pretty concerned too, even if he’s some sort of liberal huggy feely type, security consultants who have secrets aren’t very secure.”

Next to him, Clint doubled over laughing, probably at the mental image of Nick Fury being ‘huggy feely’.

Phil carefully removed his sunglasses and then made a show of studying his former Sargent. In reality, moments like that one were all for show, for the most part a meet like this had been analyzed six ways from sunday before the two parties had ever set foot on the ground. By the time he was making the over exaggerated once over, he’d already logged all the intel there was and had moved on. Just because it wasn’t a SHIELD sanctioned up didn’t mean he and Clint hadn’t done a basic threat assessment. They could both do, and sometimes did, those in their sleep.

After a painful thirty seconds or so he reached slowly into his inner jacket pocket and removed two folded sheets of paper. “I have a counter offer.”

Lambowski snapped the paper up like it personally offended him and then he read it. “What. The fuck. Is this?”

Phil sighed, sounding bored. “It’s a listing of the Alcoholic and Gamblers Anonymous meetings closest to your home address. If you get yourself together, I can help you find programs that help with this sort of debt.”

Lambowski lifted up the sheets of paper to Phil’s eye line and tore them to shreds.

“I have several copies,” Phil said.

“You goddamn queer,” Lambowski hissed, spittle flying, “you think you can walk in and just pretend to be better than me?”

“Pretend?” Phil asked quietly, “Sarge—”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Mr. Lambowski,” Phil corrected, trying not to jam his teeth together in frustration, “you’ve already missed several clues that would tell you how fruitless and endeavor this is.”

That seemed to spring something in Lambowski who tried to take a swing at him only to be stopped by Clint who had him face down against the hood of his own car, arm pulled back tightly, within moments.

“What?” Lambowski struggled with Clint’s hold, but didn’t make a dent, “Not man enough to face me yourself?”

“It's my Husband’s,” and Phil, for probably the first time, had no trouble saying the word out loud, even enjoying Lambowski’s snort of horror, “job to subdue not kill in these situations, if you'd made it to me, well..” Phil let the thought trail off. “And for the record, I'm man enough to know that neither initiating nor reacting to unprovoked physical violence is not what defines a man.”

Lambowski struggled harder. “Get off me you bastard and you can shove your butter wouldn’t melt act, though god only knows why they let amoral fags like yourselves carry guns and serve our country.”

That was probably when the rest of Phil’s sympathy had fled. He walked up to where Clint had him pinned and leaned down so that their eyes met. “I’m sorry,” Phil said, “but between the two of us, which of us has a steady job, a soon to be mortgage I can easily pay, and long term monogamous relationship with someone who loves me enough to deal with all of my shit and which of us is resorting to blackmail? You can take your moral high ground and shove it.” Phil straightened and added a, “Sarge.” For good measure.

“As for the rest,” Phil took out his phone and pulled up a recently entered number, “My boss was at _our_ wedding and Michelle,” he pressed send, “has been quite welcoming.”

“Major Coulson?” the speaker phone said after two short rings.

“Hi Michelle, I just wanted to let you know that Sargent Lambowski just tried to use the fact that I’m gay to blackmail me.”

The line crackled loudly, they weren’t in the best reception area. “Well,” Michelle finally said anger making her words shake, “there goes his Christmas card.”

Phil swallowed a laugh and took her off speaker, “I’m a little worried about how well you and Clint are going to get along.”

“I can’t wait,” she paused, her tone going soft and sincere, “is everything okay?”

Phil took a careful gander at Clint, who hadn’t even broken a sweat and Lambowski who just looked defeated. “Yeah, everything is pretty amazing. We’ll see you in September.”

Phil slowly removed a second copy of the papers he’d given to Lambowski, tucked them carefully under the shoulder Clint had pinned down and said his good byes. When Clint released him, he didn’t get up again. It was an image that would stay with him for a long time.

“I love you,” Clint said as soon as the doors were closed, “that was amazing and we need to stop at some point so I can appreciate it and you properly.”

Up until that afternoon, Phil had never even made out in the back seat of a car so when Clint enticed him into the large seat after their quick snack, it wasn’t too hard to say yes. Eventually, it moved on from just making out and he came, gasping Clint’s name, hand braced against the nearest window, watching his swollen, aching cock be swallowed down by Clint’s puffy, stretched lips. He returned the favor, one hand tracing the still worn ring on Clint’s finger, the other holding him steady as he sucked him down happily.

They spent a solid twenty minutes, rumpled and lounging in the back seat, petting each other happily, a little obsessively on Phil’s part before getting back up. Eventually Phil slid his ring off and back onto the chain around his neck and Clint did the same thing and slowly they put themselves back together. When the car arrived at the DC SHIELD depot, Agents Coulson and Barton were impeccable and completely professional, if a little car rumpled, but then, they’d just driven for twenty hours straight, or so the reports said.

After that, Phil felt all brand new in a very strange way, like the worst of his fears and insecurities had been tied together with his old Sargent and that the confrontation had not only cut him off, but them as well. Clint too seemed a little freer, which was probably why Clint had started researching and making requests in bed again. Phil hadn’t noticed it at the time, but Clint’s knowing smile and blank cardboard box resting casually under his arm were a welcome return.

Clint’s idea was simple and actually pretty similar to his earlier ones. Inside the box was a series of plugs, from the very slim to the not so slim, but nothing catastrophically worrisome. “I have ideas!” Clint sang and then cackled dramatically. His idea turned out to be slowly slicking Phil up until he felt a familiar achey hollow and then sliding in the smallest plug before rolling over and demanding to be fucked.

It was obvious, now more than ever, that Clint was a sex genius. As Phil pushed into Clint over and over, slowly filling with pleasure, nudged from the inside and the outside, Clint went to dirty, mouthy, wordy pieces under him.

“Can you feel it? When you move?” Clint asked breathless.

“Yes, hnn,” Phil nodded, his body automatically finding the stroke that worked best to keep the perfect, perfect pressure going inside of him as well as outside. When he came, unable to hold out for Clint, he shivered and shuddered and utterly shocked himself with a near dry second orgasm as Clint begged for just a few more strokes, which he obliged and then gasped as a second set of shocks went through him.

They were both so uncoordinated it took nearly 10 minutes to get enough feeling back into their fingers to remove the plug, in the meantime, Phil enjoyed the tiny little after shocks breathing and the occasionally wiggle seemed to produce.

At work, Phil officially put in for low level surveillance on Lambowski but he faded into sunset quietly and despite the obvious distaste the man now had for him, Phil couldn’t help but occasionally feel a pang of helplessness about the entire situation. Decades ago, as a nervous and just about shy lieutenant stuck in a terrible ambush and suddenly the highest in the command structure for too many miles, Sarge had talked him through it, not by taking over, but by subtly bolstering Phil’s own ideas so that he was confident enough to work past the gut wrenching terror and fear. He’d been a good soldier and it was hard to reconcile that with him being such a terrible man.

Despite the incipient feeling that time was moving faster and faster, work still had its moments of boredom so terrible it made Phil’s teeth itch and eventually he found himself making list after list of things that needed doing once they got home. Things to be packed, things to be bought, things to put in the urgent boxes so they’d find them quickly in their new home, things to talk to the bank about, things to talk to their lawyer about, things to try in bed with Clint. That last one, possibly took up more space than most.

Phil was also willing to admit that while his list was fairly structured, possibly pragmatic and usually a steady progression from one act to another, Clint’s was often… more creative. The night before they were due in some windowless office in mid Manhattan to sign what was probably going to be a forest of paperwork, Clint was curled up behind him, huffing with pleasure and nuzzling into Phil’s neck.

“Jesus that looks amazing,” Clint’s rough voice hitched as the plug, the next size up finally, slid into place.

“Feels pretty good from here too,” Phil murmured, craning his neck so he could plant a messy kiss somewhere near Clint’s lips.

“Mmmphhl,” Clint whimpered a little. “Spread a little?”

Phil obliged, shivering as the hard thing inside him pressed against his prostate nicely. The lube Clint spread between his thighs was warm and the fingers that wandered a little, pressing lightly behind his balls were fantastic. Soon Clint was shuffling closer, the heat from his body scorching in so many ways. The blunt head of Clint’s cock was settled just behind Phil’s balls, and oh that had been on purpose after all, before Clint’s quiet murmur to close back up.

Clint shuddered a little and just held Phil close. “Oh this is going to be good.”

Phil hummed in agreement. Slowly they tipped, just enough to put Phil almost face down and to let gravity help them out and then Clint gave a test thrust, his cock moving slickly between Phil’s thighs, the plug jouncing merrily with each move. Phil flailed a little, unmoored by the unexpected jolt of emotion that came with the pleasure, he grabbed Clint’s hand, hauling his arm around his waist and holding him close.

It was a slow, intense, rolling of hips with Clint tucked into his back, face next to his, quiet gasps coming from both of them. When he came, aching and shaking with it, the pleasure both sharp and diffuse, his entire body lit up in a way that was only _just_ becoming familiar to him, he turned, rolling with the aftershock it produced and kissed Clint. They barely stopped to remove the plug, unable to untangle their limbs. Phil woke up the next morning sticky, but happy. So very happy.

So it was a shock that he nearly had a panic attack in the lobby of the office building that housed the conference room where their closing was scheduled. Clint sat him down on a nearby bench and then squatted in front of him.

“Is it?” He asked, finger tracing Phil’s ring.

“I don’t think so? I mean, I didn’t freak out after the joint bank accounts and that’s almost a bigger deal, tax wise.” Phil said, in between trying to control his breathing.

“Is it the picnic?” Clint asked, squeezing Phil’s hand gently.

Picnic was actually a misnomer, it was more of an all day visit that started out doors withe one meal and ended up inside with a second. Most of the out of town guests arranged for overnight accommodations.

“How could it be that?” Phil asked.

“Well,” Clint said slowly, “this is a pretty big week for us and this meeting is just the first stop on our magical mystery tour.”

Phil laughed quietly, “This is why there’s a good chunk of SHIELD convinced you were a stoner in your other life.”

“No,” Clint shook his head, “that was the box of scooby snacks I carried around for a week after that ass accused me of being a stoner.”

“Ah, my mistake.”

They sat there for a few minutes, Phil forcing his body to take breaths when Clint’s did. “It’s just,” he said eventually, “this is really big.”

Clint laughed. “If I were a worse man I’d make a ‘that’s what you said’ joke.”

“Well it’s a good thing you have restraint then,” Phil said, taking Clint’s hand back into his. “Now, are you ignoring your own panic attack in favor of mine or are you just waiting your turn?”

Clint went silent for a long moment before inhaling a shuddering breath. “Good god, I’m going to have a garage!”

They laughed at each other and let their foreheads rest together for a long moment before getting their act together and standing. “Come on,” Clint said leading them into the elevator, “let’s nail this thing.” Phil’s burst of laughter cut through the entire lobby before the door finished closing.

Ninety minutes later they stumbled out, massaging their hands and looking more than a little dazed.

“Holy crap,” Clint whispered, “that was…”

“Like a terrible paperwork tornado.”

“Also that check was…”

“Very… very… large, yes.” Actually in reality it was 5 separate checks, the first four relatively small to pay for specific and minor fees and required to be separate from the down payment because of various banking laws. That last one though, wow, Phil had thought he’d been prepared to see those zeros. Had he been wrong. Apparently it felt different when it was your own money.

“I need booze,” Clint said shakily, pupils dilated.

Phil checked his watch. It was just past one thirty. Only slightly scandalous then. “Yes, okay. There’s a place nearby that should be open.”

When they stumbled into the wooden paneled, softly lit bar the guy behind the glass ware took one look at them and smiled. “Someone just wrote a big check today. Come on in, I’ll arrange for the special.”

Phil and Clint blinked dumbly.

“There are three types of people who come into a bar at this time of day,” the bartender led them to a table in the back, “drunks, stock brokers and first time spenders, usually a mortgage.”

They were fed the equivalent of nutritious junk food and a glass of beer and it was ridiculous but also soothing. When they stumbled back out into the daylight, Phil made himself leave a big tip, but it was a struggle. He had a feeling they were both going to have trouble spending money for a while.

Back at the apartment Phil made two phone calls while Clint puttered around, packing the last bits they needed for their flight to Texas. Then he grabbed one of the extra secure file boxes, stopped by their bed, opened the drawer and quickly emptied it into the box, on top of the spare towel he’d used to line the bottom. He topped the box off with more towels, sealed it with the dermal recognition seal and then placed a few stickers around it.

“Did you just security clearance our toys?” Clint asked from the bedroom doorway.

“You bet your ass I did.” Phil smiled, then stood, took the box with him into the living room and placed it on top of the other boxes with security clearance requirements. Those were stacked right next to the boxes labeled ‘unpack first’.

There was a firm knock on the door and when Phil opened it he was expecting the head of the security team in charge of their renovations and move. The truth of the matter was as much as SHIELD agents liked to remove themselves from the agency for mundane matters and SHIELD tended to let their mundane divisions blend in, someone with Phil’s and to only a slightly lesser extent Clint’s security clearances and concerns required a certain level of planning and security for this sort of move.

He was expecting to hand off their keys to SHIELD security, who were going to oversee not only their move but the contractors who were going to be in and out of their new house, and that thought gave Phil a secret thrill, for the next week adding the talked about security measures. Clint and Phil were going to spend most of that week in SHIELD housing, moving in officially after the walk through and inspection. He was surprised however, to find a smartly dressed Maria Hill waiting with a clipboard. Along with Natasha, Melinda and Jasper.

“What?” Phil asked, confused.

“It’s our housewarming gift.” Maria said, stepping inside, already scanning the nearby boxes, 

Jasper stepped in next. “This way you won’t spend weeks double and triple checking some stranger’s work.”

Phil’s mouth flapped a little before he smiled, genuinely touched. Behind him, Clint was busy hugging the stuffing out of Natasha who was taking it with more than her usual patience.

Eventually they made it out of the apartment. There was a small hassle at the airport, they were flying commercial for god knows what reason, it had seemed charming at the time, because their licenses to carry were too much for the poor first day on the job TSA agent who had only gotten to the ‘guns bad’ part of the lecture.

After that Clint prowled the available stores, working off energy before being stuffed into a small commuter sized plane for the flight to the Dallas/FortWorth airport. He came back with a blank card.

When questioned, Clint smiled. “Remember Agent Franks? Of Goodman and Franks? My two favorite trainees from last-ish year?” Clint happily opened up the card to write a message.

Phil nodded, he remembered her, she was whip smart and had moved quickly and laterally through the ranks. As much fun as she found science, she’d found being a handler much more satisfying. Phil had written the recommendation for her transfer to the D.C. field office personally.

“She’s engaged,” Clint said, “some hot shot Captain from the pentagon. I want to send her a card. Maybe with a few threatening messages for him.”

Phil chuckled but took the pen and paper readily enough and spent a few lines apologizing for Clint before wishing her luck.

It was an unseasonably cool day in Fort Worth which was a relief because carrying while wearing just a t-shirt was a pain. Clint immediately relaxed once their hotel room door shut.

Phil silently asked what was wrong.

“Nothing!” Clint said happily. “No hijackers! No emergencies! Not even a pick pocket!”

“I think maybe we lucked out because it’s not a national holiday.”

Clint blinked, went a little round eyed and sighed. “Well, now you’re Bruce Willis and I have about 800 role playing scenarios I want to try.”

Phil’s protestations about even thinking about it were only slightly faked.

That night they stayed in, ordered room service and then Phil was soundly pounced by Clint for a round of what Clint had gleefully called ‘Hotel Sex’. When asked what made hotel sex so special Clint explained “we’re in a hotel!” By then he was sucking on Phil’s overly sensitive collar bone had stopped caring all that much.

The next day dawned, still wonderfully cool, but sunny so Phil expected it would be fairly warm during the middle part of the day, with butterflies in Phil’s stomach. He was about to re-enter a part of his life he’d left behind a long time ago and it had been hard to cut it off the way he had. The military had no longer been for him but the people had been some of his closest friends and compatriots for a long time. There was also something to the security of a routine he could predict, even when it was being unpredictable.

Still though, he drove them up to the base entrance, handed over their ID’s and their various permits and Phil absolutely did not tap nervously against the steering wheel. Then they scanned their ID’s and Phil winced. He’d forgotten what his ID could pull up on a government computer. It tended to change depending on which government computer but the last time he’d been on a military base—

“Please don’t!” Phil shouted quickly. “Sorry, I know you were about to call your base commander, it’s unofficial policy when someone of my rank appears but I’m not here on official business, I’m just visiting an old friend, Major Hoffman.”

Next to him Clint was shaking with held in laughter. Well he’d stop if he knew what his ID now did. Rank hath its privileges, usually terrible ones. It hadn’t come up because usually no one was supposed to know Clint was there and there were ways to accomplish that without going through the front door. Besides, Clint often had an allergic reaction to front doors.

“Don’t laugh,” Phil muttered, “that one’s left over from _you_.”

“Hey, you thoroughly enjoyed that joyride through that asshole’s protocols and don’t pretend you didn't.”

Fair enough. Still Phil was glad to see the guard just nod and type in a few commands. It’d probably still make it to the guy’s desk, just hopefully after he was already gone.

They pulled up into a large drive way, the third in a series of six in the cul-de-sac and Phil couldn’t decide if it was good they weren’t one of the first or bad. Before they could get out, Clint took his hand and laced their fingers together. “Remember, Michelle is awesome, just hide behind her if you need to.”

“Why can’t I hide behind you?”

“Because I’ll have made the sacrifice play and distracted the children, because I love you.” Clint kissed their hands and then let go.

There was a sign on the door that said to follow the smell of roasting meat and the deafening roar of children.

Michelle found them first, they probably had the front gate calling in with visitor passes. She was just as he remembered her, short, muscled and spunky. Her hair was a touch faded and her face a touch older, but she was mostly unchanged.

“Major! Oh you did make it!” She smiled widely and careened into Phil for an uncomplicated hug. It took some work to hug back and not flip her over his hip, but he half suspected she was ready for that.

“Call me Phil, or Coulson if you have to,” he said, letting her go.

She turned to Clint and gave him the same treatment before stepping back. “Oh look at you, someone bagged a hottie.”

Phil started to stammer but she just winked at him. “Who said I was talking to you sweetie, Clint, honey, you must feel so lucky.”

Phil stammered, Clint’s smile went super wide and genuine and he took Phil’s hand in his. “Phil was right,” he winked, “we are going to get along just fine.” He started walking along side Michelle who was bringing them slowly to a group of people in the middle of the lawn. 

“Are we the only newbies?” Clint asked, eyes easily taking in the terrain.

“Nope,” Michelle shook her head, “Henry, Captain Parsons, you remember him Phil?”

He did, Henry Parsons had enlisted and was so obviously officer candidate material it had hurt Phil’s eyes to look at him. One of the last things he’d done before resigning was to make sure he’d made it into the next class. 

“Well he just got engaged and—”

Clint stopped dead in his tracks, so suddenly that Phil was reaching for his sidearm and searching the dark corners.

“Agent Coulson?” 

Up ahead, in the milling crowd was the newly engaged Agent Franks and her Captain. The spike of adrenaline was already flowing and so it was hard to pull back from fight or flight, though wow, that flight instinct was still kicking hard. Clint recovered first and took a few long strides to her side. “I think maybe you should call us Clint and Phil here, okay?”

She looked as poleaxed as Phil felt. “I. Yes sir.”

“Clint,” he corrected, smiling.

“Right,” she shook her head, “Clint. And Phil.”

Finally recovered Phil joined the group, though Michelle looked pretty interested in the proceedings, after all she’d just been given an unintentional look into his work life.

“Oh please,” Dan came up behind his wife looking pleased as punch just to be there, “we all knew it was Agent of something or other. You’ve shown up one too many times in the middle of nowhere with shiny shoes and bad ass sunglasses.”

“He’s right Phil,” Clint elbowed him gently, “you do sort of stand out amid a sea of tac suits.”

Eventually both Phil and Franks (call me Susan) relaxed and Clint slowly inched his way into Phil’s space until eventually they could usually be found leaning against one another. It wasn’t graphic or even that showy, but they rarely even held hands among people that knew them, so it was interesting stretching that boundary until Phil felt comfortable enough reaching out on his own. That first time got Phil another in a series of bright and happy grins from Clint.

One by one his old unit wandered over and with each one Phil unclenched a little more. They all seemed so genuinely happy to see him, to meet Clint, to hear about their mortgage signing. “Is that a thing with normal people?” Clint had whispered to him at one point.

“It’s a milestone, going into debt together,” Phil had whispered back.

“Seems petty considering you once held my intestines in with your tie and some ductape,” Clint shrugged.

“Yeah well,” Phil shrugged back, “not everyone has our bonding moments.” He then sighed dramatically, “I really liked that tie.”

Later and a few drinks in, a couple of men wandered back and offered a quiet thanks. Thanks for helping them, for believing in them, or for just being, generally, not a terrible person. The most moving one was from Captain Henry Parsons who told him getting into OCS was the best thing that ever happened to him and how Phil’s quiet help and insistence had worn off so well that he found himself looking for someone to help from time to time and that had become unexpectedly rewarding. 

More drinks and food later, they started the ‘I can neither confirm nor deny’ game where someone mentioned an operation where a couple of suits from a mystery agency had stepped in to help. Some where his, some he recognized as Jasper or even Melinda. Clint liked to throw in something now and then, usually creative and mostly true.

Then the General showed up. He was out of uniform and doing a casual walk that seemed to meander but really didn’t. Dan looked confused for a minute, jogging up to ask him something quietly. Dan’s eyebrows rose but he nodded and gave a head tilt in Phil’s direction. Clint had caught onto it as well silently released his hold on him so he could settle the matter away from prying ears. Thankfully the General had been pretty easy going.

At one point, Phil had wandered off for a break. Too many new people with too many old emotions made him feel shaky. Clint left him to it, knowing he’d come back when he was ready. Still, when Jamie Hoffman, Michelle’s son wandered in, he wasn’t expecting the slightly sullen looking teen to talk. So when the ‘Thank you’ came up out of nowhere, Phil startled. “What?”

“Thank you,” Jamie said again, looking at the floor.

Phil frowned. “For what?”

“For being you,” Jamie said eventually, finally looking up and meeting Phil’s eyes. He was definitely his mother’s son. All defiance and strength under an innocent looking package wearing faded jeans and a black t-shirt with a faded silk screened logo on it.

Phil blinked, “I don’t understand,” for a long moment Phil thought maybe it was a teenage thing, language adapted so fast on the internet that it was possible he was just missing something simple.

“For being out.” Jamie said eventually, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Mom and dad are great and all, but I live on a military base, you know? And here you are, wearing rings! Touching each other! Like it’s nothing!”

Phil’s throat closed and emotion welled dangerously close to the surface. “It’s not— I’m not—”

“But you are!” Jamie cried, agitated, obviously expecting Phil to understand something he wasn’t. “You’re important, I mean, General Peterson doesn’t just show up uninvited, he’s actually a pretty cool guy that way, he came to talk to you. And it wasn’t because you were in trouble.” 

Phil stared at him, still uncomprehending.

Jamie sighed. “Thank you, for not pretending, it makes it easier for me to not pretend.”

Oh. Phil blinked in shock. He was a role model, no he was an example, he was representation, someone to look up to and if that wasn’t downright terrifying, he didn’t know what was. “Jamie, I…” he cleared his throat, “I spent a long time hiding and it wasn’t fun and maybe if I’d had someone to… set an example, a lot of things might have been a lot easier for me.”

Jamie nodded frantically, happy to see that Phil was starting to get it but also his eyes were wide with emotions held in check and Phil started to wonder how long ago Jamie had felt comfortable enough to tell his parents about his own boyfriend.

“So, for what it’s worth,” Phil said carefully, “you’re welcome.”

Jamie smiled and then backed out of the room as quickly as he came in.

“You okay?” Clint asked, melting out of the shadows.

Phil crossed his arms and shrugged. “I don’t know. I certainly feel a lot more exposed than before, but that’s mostly in my head.”

Clint wrapped his arms around Phil from behind, slotting them neatly under Phil’s crossed ones. “I’ve been listening to these people all afternoon,” he said quietly into Phil’s ear, “you’ve done this all your life, be a good example, help people without realizing you were helping them. Doing the right thing because it was right.” Clint squeezed him tightly. “Is it any wonder you’re still doing it even when sometimes you’re so scared you can’t see straight?”

“Yeah,” Phil sighed, leaning back into Clint’s embrace, making a happy noise at Clint’s careful kiss against his neck, “it always is.”

“And that’s part of why I love you so much.” Clint kissed him again, just as softly. “You don’t try to be anything other than yourself.”

EPILOGUE (x2)

I.

One year, 2 weeks and a handful of days after Phil left a sad and beaten man behind in a parking lot they got another note. On one side was cheap xerox copy of two round medallions, it was hard to make out the writing at first. He flipped the note over.

_I still don’t like you, but I’m man enough to know when to say thank you._

_—Sarge_

Phil flipped the page back and realized they were one year chips from AA and GA. The ache from that afternoon still hurt from time to time, but maybe sometimes terrible wounds could heal, even old, scarred, painful ones.

II.

 

The second wedding, held on their very first anniversary after New York legalized gay marriage was held in a small hotel and catering hall near Poughkeepsie. Its sole purpose was for this type of event so the hotel could accommodate wedding parties up to 150 people and the hall had a first class kitchen. To this one they invited the original guests and a handful of close friends Phil had reacquainted himself with from the yearly picnics. 

This time Phil wore a soft blue sweater and dress pants and Clint a well tailored suit pants and vest combination. There was a photographer and a cake and slow dancing so close together they could feel each other breath. Their rings were cleaned, polished and had an engraving added. An infinity symbol with an arrow through the center. Where the shaft of the arrow bisected the roundest parts of the symbol one side, instead of fletching was a plus sign and the other, the traditional arrow head. It was just cryptic enough and just them enough to make them both smile softly.

Michelle, Dan, Jamie and his current and from all signs, most serious boyfriend were on Phil’s side, standing in for the family that could no longer be there, along with Fury and Maria. Clint’s side had Agent Parsons ne Franks and her husband and 2 year old child, Natasha and Melinda and Jasper and his family. There were a few more in the pews, but those were the ones that made Phil’s heart beat a little harder in pride.

Phil carried Clint into their cabin bridal style, Clint returned the favor later that week when they returned to their home where he flipped Phil over his shoulder and lugged him to the living room their first day back.

In the intervening years, not everything was easy, in fact, very little was, other than being with Clint, that was never actually difficult. Each hard fought inch against Phil’s own mind and occasionally Clint’s was so sweet and well celebrated that Phil thought he might burst from happiness on occasion.

Even if Fury did once use their absolute sugar shock romance on their anniversary as the basis for a war game infiltration scenario. Still, despite having to go to work on their anniversary, and there was no getting around that, Fury wasn’t the one who set the dates on those things, Phil still got to spend a good chunk of it making out with Clint in public places. For the good of the agency.

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger warnings:**
> 
>  
> 
> 1\. Phil deals with a lot of personal issues and eventually external forces that object to homosexuality in general. It's not from strangers, but old friends. There's only gonna be some harsh language, maybe a non violent put down.
> 
> 2\. There is an indepth discussion of Phil's motivations for some previous actions which he reveals a certain lack of caution with his own life. It's not quite suicidal ideation, but it's enough to worry his friends and family.
> 
> Will add more as I neaten up the chapters.


End file.
